


Even Deeper

by bakedgoldfish



Category: Brimstone, The West Wing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-14
Updated: 2005-03-14
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 37,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: Funny what can happen in two days.





	Even Deeper

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Even Deeper**

**by: Baked Goldfish**

**Character(s):** Leo, Hoynes  
**Category(s):** Crossover/AU  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own The West Wing, Brimstone, or any Nine Inch Nails song. Michael McGarry is, unfortunately, mine (why do I make such unsavory original characters?). Please don't sue me. I'm po'.  
**Summary:** Funny what can happen in two days.  
**Spoiler:** This takes place in the same AU as Downward Spiral, which means everything up to Two Cathedrals is normal, but after that is all my own demented little timeline.  
**Author's Note:** This is a CROSSOVER with Brimstone. If you've never seen it, you might be more than a bit confused, especially in the beginning. But I ask that you bear with me nevertheless... also, Jomiael (Yomiel) was one of the Grigori (angels who partook in the angelic war mentioned in Rev 12:7) and since they were never let back into Heaven, I'm takin' liberties. This makes more sense later on.  
**Warning:** This turns very dark in later chapters, and deals somewhat with psychological angst and the supernatural and somewhat with things mentioned in Revelations. It is also SLASH in later parts (Hoynes/Devil subtexty stuff, if that makes any sense at all).  


[Friday: 7:45 AM] 

The doorbell rang, and he rolled out of bed with a groan, grabbed his robe, and pulled it around his still-sleepy body. Shuffling over to the door, he tied the somewhat incongruous fluffy white robe tight about his waist. 

"Yeah?" he asked quietly, swinging the door open without so much as looking to see who it was. 

CJ Cregg stood outside his apartment, her hands on her hips and one leg a little to the side. "So, they were worried about you," she began lightly. 

"They were-" 

"You didn't come in, Margaret didn't know where you were, and you weren't answering the phone," she supplied. 

"Didn't come in?" he repeated in confusion. "What time is it?" 

"Seven forty-five," CJ answered. "When you didn't come in by seven thirty, the President decided either I was gonna go check up on you, or he was gonna call up the DC National Guard." 

"It's seven forty-five," he said. "I'm late." 

"Yes, you are... Leo, are you okay?" she asked, looking at his bloodshot eyes in concern. "You look a little peaked." 

Tightening the robe even more against his body, he mumbled, "I'm fine." 

She put a hand to his pale forehead. "Fine--Leo, you're a little warm. Are you sure you're okay?" 

"I'm fine," he stated more assertively, turning away from her touch and heading to his bedroom. "I'll be ready in a few minutes." 

True to his word, he emerged from his room minutes later, dressed and ready for the day. Grabbing his briefcase, he asked, "Do you want anything? Something to eat, or anything?" 

"I'm fine," CJ replied, waiting patiently as he met her by the door. "You should probably eat something, though. You don't look too great." 

"I'm okay," he shrugged as they walked outside. 

"You know, I've never known you to be sick," she mused. 

"I'm not sick," Leo griped, waiting as she unlocked the car door. "A little cold-" 

"You're actually rather warm." The car started with ease, and she pulled out of the tiny parking spot. "Take a nap, there's supposed to be some traffic at 15th and Mass," she said, using the utterly Washingtonian abbreviation for Massachusetts Avenue. 

"I'm really okay, CJ," he said, rolling his eyes slightly. "You can stop mother-henning me any time now." 

"Leo," she began, stopping at a light. "I'm not mother-henning you. That's what we've got a president for." 

"As if he doesn't have enough on his plate," he muttered. "Listen, the story we're telling him is that I got a phone call from somebody, started working on something, and I lost track of the time." 

Smirking, she quipped, "So the Great Leo McGarry couldn't have just overslept? We've got to have a cover story?" 

"Yes, the Great Leo Mc--the great, what--wait--ahh, fine, I overslept," he huffed dejectedly. "You happy? Now he's gonna worry that I'm sick." 

"You *are* sick," she stated, turning into the traffic jam. "Sick, twisted, nefarious, wicked-" 

"CJ-" 

"Seriously, Leo, are you sure you're okay? You really *are* rather feverish," CJ told him, glancing out of the corner of her eye. "And it's not like you to oversleep." 

He regarded her with amusement. "I'm okay, CJ. Nothin' to tell the press about." 

"You sure we shouldn't tell 'em? Because you know how they get-" 

"CJ, you're *this* close to making my list-" 

"-I'm done," she shrugged, plastering her eyes to the road ahead. "Really am." 

[------------] 

He woke up abruptly, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as calm as the day was long. Ezekiel Stone was beginning a new day, that much closer to reaching his goal. Three years on this earth had relocated him to New York City, for which he was glad; there was no more to do in his place of rebirth, LA. The sun shone bright outside the smallish room, and he made his way outside after shoving his wallet into his pocket. 

As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he felt another presence beside him. "You're here early," he observed dryly, turning just slightly. 

"Early to bed and early to rise, Stone," the Devil replied saccharine-sweetly. He was dressed in a rather odd suit this time; his clothing consisted of a train conductor's uniform, with the blue cap crushed low over his eyes. 

"You sleep?" Stone asked with a bit of surprise. 

"No, but that's besides the point. I've got a deal for you." 

"Politician." 

The Devil raised an immaculate eyebrow. "Psychic, are we now?" He pulled a small, rectangular piece of thick blue and white paper out of thin air and stepped up towards Stone. "A ticket. That'll be $36.27." 

Stone eyed it warily. "A train ticket? Where am I going?" 

"Washington, DC," he answered. "Now, pay up. Unless you'd rather take the car." 

Still glaring at the ticket as if it would bite him, Stone thought about the rusted out, groaning, broken-down old hunk-of-junk that had been The Hell Car. "That an Amtrak ticket?" 

"Yeah." 

"I think I'd rather take my chances with the car." 

Scowling, Satan dropped the ticket into Stone's shirt pocket before walking away and disappearing. As soon as the Devil's presence disappeared, Stone checked his wallet; his daily supply of $36.27 was gone. 

"Figures," he huffed with an empty smirk. 

The trip was uneventful, and in a few hours the train pulled up into the bowels of Union Station, Washington, DC. High, vaulted ceilings rose into view as the escalator pulled him and a slew of other travelers onto the main level of the historic station. 

"How was the ride?" the Devil asked, appearing behind him. 

"You know, it's been, what, three years? Four? Can I get a raise?" Stone asked, ignoring the somewhat greasy grin that his current employer was giving him. 

Laughing a rich, deep, yet somewhat quiet laugh, the Devil replied, "I'm firing you after this one, remember?" 

"No, I'm *quitting* after this one," Stone corrected, stepping onto solid ground once more. "No more, just like you promised." 

"I always make good on my promises," the Devil stated proudly. Off Stone's skeptical look, he gave an offended expression. "Well, usually, I do," he remarked mock-indignantly. 

Stone chuckled. "So what am I here for?" 

"As if I'd tell you," he scoffed. "Have I ever told you?" 

"No." 

"Well, what makes you think I'd tell you now?" 

"Because it's my last one, and you'd take pity on me?" 

The Devil laughed heartily at that. "Right. You've been smoking some good stuff lately, haven't you?" The laughter died down to a quiet smile. "Don't worry too much, Stone. You'll find out soon enough." He disappeared, and Stone made his way out of the massive station. 

[------------] 

"Margaret!" he bellowed, dropping his briefcase by the desk and shrugging out of his overcoat. 

She appeared silently, carrying the files of the day. "Jesus, Leo, one of these days you're gonna lose your voice from that screaming, and then what?" 

He turned to face her, startled by her abrupt entrance. "Jesus, Margaret, one of these days you're gonna give me a heart attack always sneaking up on me like that, and *then* what?" he countered. 

She peered at him warily, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

After a confused moment, Leo finally, exasperated, exclaimed, "What? What is it, Margaret? Stop staring at me, for chrissake!" 

"My, but we're testy this morning. Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed," she said, handing him some messages and papers. "Senator Lansing called, wants to discuss the emissions bill with you. Also-" 

"Wait," he interjected, holding up his free hand. "I wanna know why you were staring at me earlier." 

"Why I was staring?" 

"Yeah." 

She stared at him for a bit longer before answering. "I lust after your body, Leo," she teased, straight-faced. "Day and night, all I can think of is-" 

"Arright, arright," he stated, rolling his eyes. "Geez, I've talked with two people since I woke up, and both of them have made fun of me. This is gonna be a crap-ass day, isn't it?" He rounded to his chair, glancing at the papers in his hand and ignoring the smirk on his assistant's face. 

"Well, it's just that you're a little pale," Margaret said. 

"Huh?" he asked, clearly confused by her train of thought. 

"It's why I was staring," she clarified. "Have you been getting enough sunlight?" 

"Enough sunlight?" He stared at her incredulously, sitting down and putting his glasses on. "What, am I some sort of ficus plant?" 

She glared at him, and replied, "Fine, then. Be that way. That's the last time *I* ever express concern for-" 

"Margaret. There was something else you were gonna tell me?" he asked, trying to get back to work. 

She nodded and glanced down at her notes. "You got a call from--do you have a brother?" she asked pointedly. 

"What-" He cut himself off with an exasperated sigh. "No, Margaret, I don't have a brother. Who called?" he asked, pronouncing the last two words slowly. 

"Guy named Michael McGarry," she answered. "Didn't leave a number or e-mail or anything... Leo, are you okay?" 

He had paled considerably at the name, and the inside of his mouth had turned cottony. "Are you sure you got that name right?" he asked quietly, glad that he was already seated. 

She nodded once and continued, her visage and voice laden with concern. "He didn't leave any contact information, just said that he wanted to catch up on old times." 

"I'm sorry, catch up on what?" he mumbled. 

"Old times. His words." When Leo said nothing, she asked, "Who *is* this guy?" 

Leo pulled himself together, and took a deep breath. "Nobody," he replied tersely. "Don't worry about it. Anything else?" 

She realized that he wasn't telling her something, but decided to drop the matter. "Nothing. Except for your paleness," she ribbed. 

"Margaret-" 

"I mean, you're kinda blindingly white. You know, they sell lotion now that can make it look like you've got a tan-" 

"I mean it-" 

"Going." She left with a tiny smile. 

He waited for her to shut the door before picking up the messages he'd gotten. Reading Margaret's slanted scrawl, he sighed and leaned back. She must have misheard the name. 

Michael McGarry. 

His father. 

With a glance at the folded flag that still sat on the top shelf on his wall, he shook his head. She must have misheard the name. There was no way his long-dead father could want to "catch up on old times." 

[Friday: 11:56 AM] 

With the lack of money, Stone was unable to do anything other than wander like a tourist, aimlessly walking the tan, pebbled paths of The Mall. He took in the sights in a bored manner, staring at the red brick exterior of the Smithsonian castle for a moment too long. 

"Reminds me of home," came a chipper voice from behind. 

Stone turned, and saw the Devil wearing a Panama hat, too-large shades, and a shirt that read, "Washington, DC" in bright red letters under a cartoonish, colorful DC skyline. 

"The Smithsonian?" 

"DC." He snapped off a picture of the castle, squinting up at it. "Wonderful town, really." 

"What are you doing here?" Stone asked trying to get to the point. 

"I want to see the Vice President," the Devil answered, smiling at him. "Hear he's gonna be at the Capitol steps today. Maybe you should go, get a handshake or something." With that, he strolled off, vanishing into a crowd of equally enthusiastic early-autumn tourists. 

Stone chuckled quietly, and headed down to the Capitol building. Sure enough, as soon as he got there, Vice President John Hoynes was emerging from the building, walking to a rope line throng by the Reflecting Pool. 

Getting as close as possible to the head of the crowd, Stone peered at Hoynes' face for evidence of being a damned soul. There *was* something in his eyes, but not quite what Stone was looking for. Puzzled by this seemingly pointless excursion, he kept looking at Hoynes, dumbfounded. 

The Vice President caught Stone's eyes, and looked right back. After a moment of recognition, he slapped on that politician's smile and waved to the crowd, breaking eye contact with Stone and heading into his limousine. 

"That him?" he mused quietly as the crowd slowly dispersed. "The Vice President. Of all the... but it couldn't be him, because-" 

"He's been around more than three years," the Devil finished for him. "Can't be one of my escapees. Yeah, great work there, Detective." 

Stone glowered at him. "What was the point of me seeing him, then?" 

The Devil pouted a little. "Nothing, really. I just thought you should get a handshake or something." 

"Did *you* get one?" 

"No," he sulked. "He wouldn't even come near me. Maybe," he began with a bright smile. "Maybe, I should go to *him*. Or, rather, *you* should go to him." 

"You're giving me a lot more clues on this one, you know that?" Stone commented. 

To which the Devil replied, "Yeah, I just want you off my back." Making shooing motions, he added, "Now, scram! He works in the Old Executive Office Building, near the White House." 

Shaking his head, Stone walked towards a tourist kiosk, knowing that his "employer" was already gone. Picking up a map, he began searching for his next destination. 

[------------] 

"Sam," Cathy called from her outer office area. 

He jumped out of his seat and poked his head out his door. "Yeah?" 

"You've got a call, line two." 

His brows furrowed. "Who's on line one?" 

"Josh," she answered. 

"Well, why didn't you tell me?" he asked, annoyed. 

"Because he's only on the line to complain about Donna, and if you were to listen to him rant, you wouldn't get any work done, now would you?" she replied, the voice of practicality. 

He frowned at how right she was, and retreated back into his office. Punching up line two, he held the phone to his ear and said, "Sam Seaborn." 

"Sam, it's Bobby Naybors from Seth Gillette's office. You free for lunch?" 

Again, he frowned. "Uh, sure," he replied, a little surprised by the question. "What's up?" 

"Seth just wants to have a sit-down, do a little talking," Bobby replied. 

Sam smiled patronizingly. "Bobby, it's not that the administration doesn't care about Seth, it's just that we have a full schedule-" 

"He wants to talk to *you*," Bobby interjected. "Just you, Sam. Not the rest of the administration. So, you free?" 

"Yeah," Sam replied, hesitantly. "Where does he want to meet?" 

"His office okay? He's got a lot of things going on today, doesn't want to leave the building. Can you swing by at around noon?" 

"Okay," he answered with a nod. "I'll see you then." 

The next few hours passed quickly, just like any other day in the White House. At quarter to twelve, he headed out to the Capitol, bundled in his coat against the brisk fall day. Gold and red leaves littered the sidewalk, or fell and became sodden brown in the Reflecting Pool. He walked quickly up the marble steps, and entered through the Rotunda. The scenic route was always preferable to him, and he had a few minutes to spare, anyway. 

When he got to Gillette's office, his watched beeped at him, letting him know it was midday. He hung up his coat on the coat tree as he smiled at the secretary; she waved him into Gillette's office. 

"Senator," Sam greeted, eyeing the roast beef sandwich that lay on a plate in front of him. 

"Sam, go on and sit down," Seth said, his ear to his phone and a half-eaten sandwich sitting before him. "I'll be right with you. Start eating, if you like." 

Sam picked up the sandwich as he waited for the junior senator to get off the phone. "Thanks for the lunch," he said as soon as Gillette had hung up. 

"No problem," Gillette replied with a squarish smile. "Listen, Sam, did Bobby tell you why I wanted to see ya?" 

He shook his head, and took a bite. 

"I'd like to offer you a job." 

He swallowed abruptly, the half-chewed bite heavy in the bottom of his throat. "A job?" With a slightly nervous chuckle, he added, "Don't know if you've noticed, but I'm gainfully employed right now." 

Seth smiled again and leaned back in his chair. "Don't know if *you've* noticed, but you might not be all that employed in a little while." He watched as the grin faded from Sam's face. "Listen, Sam. Your guy's just not pulling the same support as he was this time last year. Thirty-eight percent approval? That's low, Sam." 

"He'll bounce back," Sam replied weakly, putting his sandwich down. 

"No he won't, and we both know it," Seth countered. "Word's been getting around that you don't have much clout in his administration." 

"What're you talking about?" he asked, chuckling nervously. 

Gillette leaned forward a bit. "I know that drop in at last year's GDC speech wasn't your idea. I know you were against it. Ziegler stuck it in, didn't he?" 

"Sometimes, friends have to be honest with each other," the Deputy Communications Director stated. 

He leaned back again. "Exactly. So why didn't Ziegler pass it by you before adding it?" 

"He's the head of Communications, I'm his deputy," was Sam's reply. "He doesn't have to pass it by me." 

Seth nodded, apparently satisfied by Sam's answer. "That's true. Still, the fact remains that the GDC is gonna be shopping for a new Democratic candidate." 

"And that new candidate is gonna be you, you think," Sam said contemptuously. "The GDC isn't leaving President Bartlet." 

"What, you think that saving a few hundred acres for national parks is enough to please the GDC?" Gillette snapped. "Sam, the fact of the matter is, I'm gonna be the GDC's golden boy come time for election. Bartlet is gonna be out, and I'd really like someone like you to work for me." 

Sam got up and flexed his fingers. "I'm sorry, Seth, but I've got to go. It's been a pleasure." 

"Think about it, Sam," Gillette called as Sam walked out the door. 

[------------] 

CJ Cregg eyed the pile of reports on her desk. Then she eyed the clock. 

"Time for lunch," she stated, pushing her chair out from under her desk. Gathering her things, she headed out of the White House. It wasn't so much that the Navy chefs in the mess hall couldn't cook; rather, it was more that they weren't given much to work with by way of variety. 

Today, she would *not* have a burger and fries. 

As soon as she exited the White House grounds, she bumped into a somewhat shabbily-dressed man whose head was buried in a tourist map. 

"Excuse me," she said out of habit, stepping to the side a bit. 

He looked up at her, his face almost as unkempt as his clothing. Unshaven, just-rolled-out-of-bed hair, cheeks a little gaunt compared to most of the men she knew; this man looked just a little less than touristy. 

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "I should've been looking where I was going." 

CJ gave a tiny smile and said, "No problem," before walking off. 

He stared down at the map, a little confused. "Excuse me," he called out to her, a hint of desperation in his voice. 

She turned to face him, already about fifteen feet from him. "Yes?" 

"Um, could you help me?" he asked sheepishly. "I'm trying to find the ... " and here he paused to look down at the map, "Old Executive Office Building." 

With an amused smile, CJ replied, "It's right over there." She pointed across the street. "They sell disposable cameras down the street, if you need one... " 

"No, no. Thank you," he added quickly. Glancing at the OEOB, he said, "They should have a bigger sign." 

"Yeah, well," she chuckled. "It's on our to-do list." 

He gave a short laugh. "Thank you again." 

"No problem." She turned and walked away. 

Stone glanced back down at the map, then at the building. "Definitely need a bigger sign." He stole a jog across the street and ran up the steps to the entrance. A uniformed Secret Service agent manned the front desk, and Stone nodded a greeting to him as he signed in. Idly, he wondered if he would even show up on the surveillance cameras as he took his visitor's pass and walked to the elevators. 

The elevator took him to the correct floor, opening with a soft ding. He stepped out cautiously, glancing around momentarily before heading down a hallway; he hoped that this hall would take him to his destination. 

Predictably, it did not. Back-tracking, he hit another hallway, and turned down that one, again hoping to find his mark. This time, he did, though he did not know it until he heard the voices from within. 

Opening the door slowly, he peered in. The Vice President was talking to some woman, presumably his secretary, as she was taking dictation from him. Stone stepped in quietly, but the Vice President's agents still saw him, and rushed him. 

"Wait," Hoynes called, holding up his hands and motioning for the agents to unhand Stone. "I know him." Turning back to his secretary, he said, "Let's continue later, okay?" 

He faced Stone as the agents warily backed away. "Come on, Mr. Stone. Let's go into my office." 

The office was stylishly appointed, subtle and tasteful. Stone glanced around, taking it all in, as he casually walked to the chairs in front of Hoynes' desk. 

"Sit down, if you like, Ezekiel," Hoynes stated, motioning to the chairs as he himself sat down. 

Stone eyed him curiously as he sat down. "How do you know my name?" 

"I had help from a higher power," Hoynes answered, absently toying with a pen. 

Glancing up, Stone replied, "A higher power?" 

"The FBI, Mr. Stone," he replied, chuckling. "I asked them to do a search on folks fitting your description, dead or alive. They were pretty quick about it, too." 

Smiling, Stone nodded in understanding. "I know you're not the one I'm looking for," he began. "But I'm not quite sure what role you play in all this." 

Leaning back, Hoynes replied, "I'm supposed to tell you about your mark." He waited for it to register, smirking at the surprise on the other man's face. "His name is Michael McGarry." 

Furrowing his brows, Stone repeated, "McGarry? As in-" 

"As in the same as *Leo* McGarry," Hoynes finished. "I see they have CNN in Hell." 

His astonishment slowly growing, Stone asked, "How did you know?" 

"Well, perpetual CNN would be the perfect punishment for most people," he answered smoothly. 

"No," Stone began. "I mean, how did you know where I'd been?" 

"A friend in high places." 

"The FBI wouldn't-" 

"Higher." 

[------------] 

Margaret placed the phone down serenely, professionally, as a chill settled in her stomach. It was the same chill that always came to her when she got those kinds of phone calls. 

She walked to Leo's door and knocked before opening it. He was at his desk, in his shirtsleeves, reading something and making notes. 

"Leo," she began, "they need you and the President in the Situation Room." 

[------------] 

"He landed in the DMZ." 

"But we don't know for sure-" 

"He landed closer to North Korea than South, what was he doing up there?" 

"His plane could've glided in," Admiral Fitzwallace stated. 

The Secretary of State turned his eyes to him. "But we don't *know* that." 

The door opened, and the people in the room stood up as the President and Leo entered. 

"What's happening?" Leo asked as they all took their seats again. 

"An Air Force pilot crashed in the demilitarized zone along the thirty-eighth parallel," one of the joint chiefs replied. 

"Korea," Bartlet muttered. "What on earth happened?" 

"That's what we're trying to figure out, sir," Mickey answered. 

Bartlet turned to the National Security Advisor, who had been oddly quiet for the most part. "Nancy, what do we have on this?" 

"Not much," McNally admitted. "There was a storm blowing through the region, knocked out a lot of the communication lines." 

"So we're incommunicado with our troops in South Korea?" the President asked incredulously. 

"Basically. And from what little we got, the pilot's commander was hesitant to answer too many questions about the guy's mission," she went on. "The North Koreans've got him, saying he was up where he shouldn't have been. But they haven't offered up any proof." 

Bartlet nodded. "We have no way of knowing whether this guy was in South Korea or the DMZ while he was flying. What are our options?" 

The Secretary of State replied, "We could talk to the North Korean government." 

"They're saying he was flying in the demilitarized zone, they won't be giving him up any time soon," Fitzwallace stated. 

Leo leaned back into his seat, glancing at the President. "Sir, the best thing we can do right now is look into it-" 

"The best thing we can do," Admiral Fitzwallace interrupted, "is to tell the North Koreans that we want our man back, and to back that up with a show of force." 

"But if he were making illegal maneuvers, they have every right to keep him," the Secretary of State replied. "We should open up negotiations with them." 

"Nancy?" Bartlet asked quietly. 

"I'm gonna have to go with Leo on this one," she replied. "I think we don't have enough information to act just yet." 

The President nodded, and flipped through the papers that had been placed in front of him. "Okay." Looking to Leo, he added, "I want updates every fifteen minutes, faster if we get something new." He stood to leave, and the rest of the group stood along with him. 

[------------] 

Sam dumped his coat unceremoniously across the back of his chair and sat down, lost in his own thoughts. Part of him could not believe that Gillette could have been so audacious, so brash, as to assume that Sam would seriously consider leaving the administration to work on Gillette's campaign. 

Another part of him wondered why he was so troubled by Gillette's offer. 

"Hey," came a voice at Sam's door. "I was lookin' for you." 

He looked at Josh and asked, "What's up?" 

Josh shrugged, leaning into the doorway with his hands braced against the frame and one leg kind of bent behind the other. "Just wanted to grab some lunch. You eat yet?" 

"Grabbed a sandwich," he answered, a little tersely. 

"Did the sandwich insult your lineage?" Josh asked with cautious humor, wondering what was so obviously eating at his friend. 

"Seth Gillette offered me a job." 

Josh blinked and furrowed his brows, looking as if a cold wind had just hit him full-force in the face. "Wow," he said, uncertainly. "I mean-" 

"He asked me to go work on his campaign," Sam elaborated. Picking up a folder, he said, "I gotta go over this document with counsel. I'll see ya." He left the office. 

"Bye," Josh said, squishing himself onto the doorframe to let Sam pass. He took a breath and turned to Toby's office, wondering if he'd heard. 

"Hey, Josh," Toby muttered as Josh entered his office, not looking up from his work. 

"How'd you know it was me?" 

"I'm psychic," Toby answered. "What do you need?" 

"Seth Gillette just offered Sam a job on his campaign." 

Ziegler's head shot up, and he stared nails at Josh. "Gillette did what?" 

"He offered Sam--he didn't take it," Josh quickly amended. 

"Sam told you that?" he asked cautiously. 

Thinking back on the short conversation, Josh realized that Sam had said no such thing. "You don't think... I mean, this is Sam." 

"He's been pretty pissed," Toby said. 

"Yeah, but this is Sam." The statement alone was enough to build Josh's confidence. "He wouldn't leave." 

Toby regarded him for a moment longer before attempting to return to his work. "Yeah," he said, a part of him wanting to believe Josh. 

"Toby-" 

"Josh, I'll talk to him later." 

Josh left, and Toby didn't even look up. Moments later, however, he dropped his pen to the desk and headed to Leo's office. 

[------------] 

"Wait," Stone said, holding up his hands, palms outward. "You mean-" 

"I'm not the Second Coming, if that's what you're thinking," Hoynes interrupted with an amused smile, pouring himself some water. "I'm sorry, do you want anything to drink? Coffee, juice, tea-" 

"I'm fine," Stone answered, his hands dropping back down. "So, what exactly do you do for... um." 

"Not much," Hoynes admitted, sitting back down. "I gave up the election. I could've won it, if I hadn't gone to the middle of the road on so many issues. After I signed on to Bartlet's ticket as the veep candidate, though, He didn't have me do anything else." 

"Until now," Stone added. 

"Yeah." He leaned back, the ice clinking delicately in the glass as he said, "He's a good man, Jed Bartlet. Him and McGarry both. They both have their skeletons in the closet, but who doesn't?" 

"You don't," Stone pointed out. 

With a short laugh, Hoynes replied, "I do. I just have better spin doctors than them." 

Stone was about to pursue this trail further; instead, he shook his head and went back to the more important matter. "Tell me about this Michael McGarry." 

"He works for the DCPD, now," Hoynes said. "Goes by the name Michael Smith. Seems to like morning shifts. He's been dead a good long while now." 

"How?" 

"Gunshot wound to the head." Quickly, the Vice President amended, "Not like you, though. Police reports list it as suicide." 

"I take it it wasn't really a suicide," Stone said. 

"Nope. That's skeleton number one for Leo." With a sigh, Hoynes added, "Don't take this one for granted. I don't know how bad the other souls were, but this guy is just evil, and he's got a heluva vendetta. Powerful as hell, too." 

Stone nodded, already knowing that three years on this earth would have made Michael McGarry stronger than almost any of the other souls Stone had sent back to Hell. "Do you know where he lives?" 

Hoynes shook his head. "The police department has an address on him, but it's nothing more than an alley. I have a picture of him, though." He handed Stone a manila envelope, and took a sip of water. 

Pulling the photo out, Stone was taken aback by the lack of similarities between Michael and his son. Obviously taller than Leo, with dark hair and a long, bland face, it was almost as if the two could not be related in the least, except for the smile the two had in common. "Where was this taken? When?" 

"The Boston PD took it, a few days before he died." Putting the glass down, Hoynes said, "Mr. Stone, I've got a question." 

"Yeah?" he replied absently, studying the photograph. 

"How's he doing?" 

"Who?" He glanced up momentarily. 

"The Devil." 

Stone looked at Hoynes curiously. "You know him?" 

"Met him a couple times," Hoynes replied with a noncommittal shrug. "Tell him I said hi, when you see him next. And one more thing." 

"What's that?" Stone asked, still wondering how Hoynes knew the Devil. 

"Get a suit, Stone. The Secret Service would be less likely to beat you down if you're not dressed like a vagabond." 

Stone glanced down at his clothing defensively. "But-" 

"Look, when you leave, go to Janeane--she's my secretary, right out there--and tell her you need a suit. She'll set you straight." 

Taking that as his cue to leave, Stone stood up and put the photo back in the envelope. "Thanks," he said before turning and heading to the door. Upon reaching the exit, he asked, "Why did you give up the election, anyway?" 

"Because He told me to," Hoynes replied. 

"Why?" 

He shrugged. "I'm not privy to His plans. I don't think Bartlet is, either. Is that all?" 

"Yeah," Stone replied. He left. 

[Friday: 1:30 PM] 

"Hell of a time for a storm to pick up," Bartlet muttered as he and Leo walked back to their respective offices. 

"Yes, sir," Leo agreed. "I'm gonna brief CJ on this, to head anything off." 

"You don't think it's leaked, do you?" the President asked incredulously. 

"Just in case," Leo replied. 

Bartlet nodded as they turned a corner. "Leo, are you okay? You look a little ill." 

"Allergies," Leo shrugged off. "Maybe a cold. I'm fine." 

"You sure?" Bartlet had never seen his Chief of Staff looking so under the weather. 

"It's a cold," Leo said, waving it off. "I'm fine, sir." 

"Okay," Bartlet said, fine with Leo's answer. "Keep me posted." He went into the Oval. 

"Yes, sir." Walking into his office, Leo said, "Margaret, get me CJ." He sat down at his desk, and settled down to some other work. 

Leo looked up at the knock on his door. "Come in," he said, and the door opened. 

"You needed to see me, Leo?" CJ said as she locked the door behind her. 

"A few hours ago, an Air Force pilot crashed his plane on the 38th parallel," Leo began without preamble. "The North Koreans are holding him, saying that he was trying to attack." 

CJ stared at him for a stunned moment. "There goes my after-lunch nap," she stated finally. 

"I just wanted to tell you, in case you get any questions at the two o'clock briefing," Leo added seriously. "Any questions you get, the answer'll be that due to the security issues involved, the White House cannot comment." 

"What's the real answer?" 

Leo hesitated a moment before replying, "We don't know anything yet. All communication in the area is out." 

She nodded. "Is that all?" 

"Yeah," he said, dismissing her. As she was leaving, Lionel Tribbey came in, eyes burning and mouth set in a taught line. "Lionel-" 

"What's this?" Tribbey asked, throwing a folder onto Leo's desk. "You told me, months ago, that they'd have nothing to throw back at us. No proof, you said." 

"The hell are you talking ab-" Leo opened the folder and withdrew its contents. "What is this?" he demanded. 

"The special prosecutor's office faxed that copy over to us today," Lionel replied, his voice harsh and quiet. "Who wrote that, Leo? Whose handwriting is that?" 

Leo stared at handwritten letter, stunned. "It's my father's," he answered numbly. 

"Your father wrote an unsent letter stating that he feared for his life, Leo," Tribbey stated. "Specifically, he was afraid of you. No proof, indeed." 

"This can't be," Leo said. "It wasn't-" He lowered his voice and looked up at Tribbey. "It wasn't planned. He, uh, he couldn't have-" 

"Well, fuck, Leo. If that's a forgery, it's the best anyone's ever seen." He ran a hand through the shock of white hair on his head and turned to the door. "I gotta go." 

"What's gonna happen?" 

"I don't know," Lionel admitted tersely. "He wants you to sit in front of the jury tomorrow, and he'll probably bring it up then." 

"Tomorrow?" Leo said incredulously. "I've got meetings with the leadership-" 

"He's not gonna care, Leo," Tribbey interrupted. "He wants you tomorrow." 

Leo looked away for a moment, floored. "We can't get him to change the date?" 

"He was being a nice guy by letting us know he has this. I don't think he'll be getting any nicer." He walked to the door, opened it to leave. 

He nearly walked right into CJ Cregg. 

"I think, maybe, I heard some things I wasn't supposed to," she said slowly, eyes wide and mouth dry. 

[------------] 

Mallory shook her head sadly as the youth was taken by one of the officers. He had pulled a fire alarm during the school's lunch break. Part of Mallory was glad that the fifth grader had only done that, while part of her wondered what it spoke of society that a false fire alarm was no longer considered to be a grave offense. 

While the first officer loaded the student into the back of the police car, she went up to the second officer. "Excuse me, sir?" 

He turned to face her, his long face serious and bored. "Yes, ma'am?" 

She quickly glanced at his nametag and asked, "Sergeant Smith, he's not gonna be in very much trouble, is he?" 

"Are you his teacher?" Smith asked with a slight lilt to his voice, his eyes almost unnoticeably flickering over her. 

"No," Mallory answered. "I have a fourth grade class here, though. I'm Mallory O'Brien." She held out her hand, and he shook it firmly. 

"Michael Smith," he returned. "He'll not be in too much trouble, ma'am. We're just gonna take him to the station, put the scare in him, then get his parents in there." 

"Put the scare in him," she repeated, smiling a bit. "Haven't heard that one in a while." 

"Really?" he said, half a grin on his face. "How so?" 

"My dad used to say it, when he was-" She cut herself off before she said drunk and angry. Shaking her head slightly, she said, "He used to say it a long time ago." 

"Well, I hope I don't remind you of your father," Michael said with a chuckle. He looked back at the squad car and added, "I've got to go, Ms. O'Brien." 

"He's really gonna be okay?" she asked, glancing at the student who sat in the back of the vehicle. 

"He'll be fine," Michael assured her. Pulling out his wallet, he added, "Tell you what. Here's my business card, got my cell phone number on it. Give me a call tonight." 

"To check up on him, of course," Mallory said with a smile. 

"Oh, of course, of course," Michael replied with a grin. "I'll see you around, maybe." He turned around, and jogged to the waiting car. 

As he climbed in, his partner glanced at him from the driver's seat. "She interested, Smith?" 

"I think so, yeah," Smith answered. 

His partner glanced at Mallory as he turned the ignition. "Damn. How the hell'd you manage that?" 

Michael McGarry glared out the window at the granddaughter who knew him as Michael Smith. Part of him could not believe that this opportunity had fallen into his lap, while part of him automatically began figuring the woman into his equations. Eyes dark, hard, and facing away from his partner, he replied, "Luck of the Irish, I suppose." 

[------------] 

"Christ," Tribbey breathed, still standing right in front of CJ. "Come inside." 

"Leo-" she began, peering around Tribbey's shoulders. 

"Come inside, CJ," Leo beckoned, voice heavy. "Close the door." 

"Please tell me I heard wrong," she said after she closed the door. "Please tell me-" 

"What did you hear?" Lionel asked. "Exactly what?" 

"Everything from when you walked in, to just now." She turned back to Leo. "What's going on?" 

"CJ, it really isn't any of your business-" 

"I'm the White House Press Secretary," she interrupted. "If it involves you, and if it involves a special prosecutor, it involves me. Remember, Leo, I'm the one who'll have to spin this." 

Leo stared at her for a long while, and then glanced at Tribbey, questioning. 

"It's your call, Leo," Lionel said. 

Nodding, Leo said, "Sit down, CJ." 

Sitting, she said, "Leo, if you tell me something, you gotta tell me everything you legally can-" 

"Forty years ago, I killed my father. Shot him in the head. The police report lists it as suicide, I was seventeen, and the case is closed. Apparently, the prosecution got their hands on a letter that shouldn't exist, a letter that makes it look as if I could have planned my father's death." 

CJ stared at him, floored. For a moment, it looked as if she was about to say something, but then she shook her head. Taking a deep breath, she looked away, a thoughtful and stunned expression on her face. 

Leo sighed wearily. "CJ-" 

"You guys really know how to break secrets, don't you?" she began scathingly, facing him again. "I mean, wow. Keep it hidden away for years, and then kinda just slap it in our faces. No," she said when she saw that Leo was about to interrupt. "No, I think it's great, Leo. Our President conceals a degenerative disease, but that's not enough, now our Chief of Staff--a recovering addict, I might add--concealed the fact that he committed patricide when he was seventeen! Gee, ya think that's enough scandal for us?" 

"Well, I'm sorry, CJ, that I didn't foresee this being a problem for you when I was seventeen and defending my family!" Leo growled caustically. "I'm sorry if I didn't take you into consideration when he was hitting my mother and sisters, CJ. I'm so very sorry, really I am." 

"Leo, he was your father, how could you-" 

"Don't you *dare* pass judgment on me," he interrupted loudly, bolting up and slamming his open hand on his desk. "Don't you think, for one scant second, that you-" He sat back down, his jaw clenched as he tried to calm himself down. "I didn't tell you to get your forgiveness or understanding," he began, his voice quieter and clipped. "I told you because this might come out, and I wanted to give you the heads up." 

She was still angry at Leo, for reasons she could not quite name, but she could tell that he was already back in politico mode. "There's a chance it won't come out?" she asked, her own voice taut from trying to reign in her anger. 

Leo pushed the envelope towards her. "If we can get Dupris to back down on this angle, it won't come out. The letter in there can't be real," he said. "It implies that I'd planned it." 

"You didn't, though?" 

"No. It was spur of the--he came home drunk, started in on my sisters-" He cut himself off, unwilling and unable to relate the events of that night to a member of his staff. 

CJ, cooled off a bit, just nodded. "Who else knows?" 

"Uh... Lionel," he began, motioning to the lawyer who was still standing in the corner of his office. "The President. And you." 

"Are you going to tell the rest of-" She stopped abruptly at the sound of the door opening behind her. 

"Leo, we need to talk," Toby began in a terse voice. 

"Can it wait, Toby?" Leo asked quietly. 

"We need to talk now," Toby replied. "It can't wait." 

"It can wait ten minutes," Leo said. "Could you stand outside for a bit? I'll call you in when I'm done here." 

Toby glanced at CJ and Tribbey before nodding and leaving, closing the door behind him. 

Leo looked back at CJ. "You were saying?" 

"I was saying, are you gonna tell the rest of the staff?" 

He shook his head. "Not unless I absolutely have to. I'd rather not--I mean, I don't-" 

"Okay," CJ said. "Okay. I'm gonna, maybe, need some time to take this in." 

"Go," he ordered. "Take your time." 

Lionel watched as CJ left. Picking up the letter, he said, "I'd better get going, too. I'll see you, Leo." 

"Send Toby in, would you?" Leo asked. Toby came in, watching as the others left. 

"Was that... was that anything I need to know, Leo?" Toby asked quietly. 

"No," Leo answered. "What did you need to tell me?" 

"Seth Gillette offered a job to Sam." 

"What?" Leo sunk back into his chair, stunned. "He didn't take it-" 

"I haven't talked to him," Toby replied. "Josh didn't think Sam took it, for what that's worth." 

"I'll talk to Sam," Leo said, still taken aback. "Is that it?" 

"That thing, with CJ and Lionel... " He shook his head. "Nothing." He turned to leave, and his hand was on the doorknob. 

"Toby, it's nothing concerning-" 

"It's just that, there've been so many back-room meetings in this White House, and look where we are now," Toby said quietly, turning around to face Leo again. 

"Don't worry about it," Leo stated, leaning forward and looking Toby straight in the eyes. "It's not about the administration." 

Toby nodded, still a little dubious, but satisfied with Leo's answer for the moment. "I gotta go, do a thing." 

"Go, do your thing," Leo dismissed. The door shut behind Toby with a soft click, and Leo looked down at his work. 

Throwing his pen down in frustration, he leaned back into his chair and rubbed his eyes resignedly. 

"Damn." 

[------------] 

Stone stepped into the upper-crust men's clothing store, feeling a little out of place in his regular garb. Glancing around for some help, he was somewhat startled by the familiar voice that emanated from over his shoulder. 

"This way, sir," the Devil mocked, guiding Stone by the elbow to a more secluded corner of the shop. "And what can I help you with today?" 

"Ha ha," Stone remarked dryly. "Go away, I need a suit." 

The Devil whipped out a tape measure and began taking measurements. "I know. Now be a good boy and lift up your arms." 

Stone did just that, and asked, "Why are you doing this? You're all-knowing. Don't you know my measurements already?" 

"First off," the Devil replied, "I'm not all-knowing. That's the other guy, and you know it. Tip your chin up," he ordered, wrapping the tape around Stone's neck. "Second, while I do already know your measurements, this is just more fun." 

Stone rolled his eyes as the Devil kneeled in front of him. "The hell are you doing down there?" 

"Spread 'em. I need to take your inseam." 

"You know, I need a suit *now*, not in three days," Stone said, impatiently allowing the Devil to take his inseam measurement. 

Scowling, the Devil got up. "Fine." He pulled a suit off a nearby rack; it was perfectly cut for Stone. "Take this one." 

Stone took the proffered suit and said, "Hoynes says hello." 

The Devil immediately started, a reminiscently hurt expression on his face. Within half a second, though, he was back to his composed, cool self. "He did?" he asked casually. 

"Yeah. How do you two know each other, anyway?" 

"Office mixer," the Devil tossed off nonchalantly. "There's a changing room in the back. Put the suit on and... I don't know, burn the stuff you're wearing right now." 

Stone glanced down at his scrappy clothes. "I thought you liked my clothes." 

"Yeah, but I like inflicting pain, and the smell of sulfur and burning human flesh, too," the Devil replied. 

Taking the clothes into the dressing room, Stone muttered, "Good point." When he re-emerged, old clothes in hand, the Devil was still waiting for him. "Why're you still here?" 

He shrugged. "Just because." 

"You're getting' weird in your old age, you know that?" Stone said as they walked out of the store together. 

"So sue me." 

"Listen, I've got to go find this guy," Stone said, hoping that would get the Devil to either give him a clue or leave him alone. "Two bullets, and I'm free." 

"You think this is gonna be easy, then?" the Devil asked. 

"No," Stone replied truthfully. "But I've already passed the milestone, haven't I? With Ashur, last week. She was the strongest one, and she's back in Hell now." 

Suddenly, the Devil pushed him into the nearest alley. 

"Hey, I just got these clothes," Stone half-joked, wondering what had overcome his employer. 

"I'm going to give you a warning," the Devil began, his tone strangely dark and serious. "This last one isn't like the others." 

Stone stared at him in confusion. Never, in his recollection, had the Devil been so serious about one of the escaped souls. "What are you-" 

"Most souls come to Hell with only a few flaws; they become twisted and sick after spending time with me. Michael McGarry came to me, already twisted. And, I tell ya, forty years in Hell did nothing to help his disposition." 

Stone stared at him, uncomprehending. "Ashur-" 

"Ashur was child's play, Ezekiel. She was a test to see if you could stand up to things far greater. Do not take this one for granted; while Ashur had evil and sadism on her side, this one has all that plus the taste for vengeance. Don't get cocky." Just as suddenly as he had begun his warning, the Devil ended it. Straightening Stone's suit, he added, "Now go on out there, and do your thing." 

Stone glanced down at his re-straightened suit. When he looked up the Devil was gone. He walked away. 

Invisible to Stone and the mortal world, the Devil watched his servant depart for destinations unknown. 

"Hoynes says hello. Must pay the old boy a visit, now," he mused to himself, before disappearing completely. 

[Friday: 6:55 PM] 

Sam started up the stairs to his office wearily. Never before had he been subjected to the amount and the type of questioning that Babish had just put him through. He knew, though, that the questioning was simple preparation for the inquisitions that the administration was embroiled in. Because of that, he wasn't nearly as angry at counsel as he could have been. 

Cathy was waiting for him at his office. "Leo wants to see you," she said, handing him the note. 

"When?" he asked, dropping his stuff off. 

"He said as soon as you came back," she replied, moving on to other work at hand. 

Sam made his way to Leo's office without interruption. When he got there, Margaret ushered him in, hinting to him that Leo was pretty antsy and that it really couldn't possibly be her fault. Sam took this as Margaret being Margaret, but wondered what Leo could be upset at him about. 

"You needed to see me?" Sam asked as Margaret left the office. 

"Yeah, siddown," Leo said gesturing to the chair in front of the desk. 

"What's up?" 

"Toby came to me earlier today-" A knock on the door interrupted Leo, and he turned to face Margaret as she came in. "What is it?" he asked, irritated. 

She glanced at Sam before looking back at her boss. "There's been a development," she replied cryptically. 

Immediately, Leo forgot about Sam's presence in the room. "What's happened?" 

Again, Margaret glanced at Sam, and Leo said, "Margaret, tell me." 

"It might have been leaked," she said. "CJ's on her way right now." 

Leo turned back to Sam, looking even wearier than before. "Sam-" He shook his head. "Never mind. I'm gonna hafta talk to you later." 

"Sure," Sam agreed, getting up to leave. "I'll be in my office." He left as CJ was coming in, and pulled the door shut behind him. 

"Danny has it," CJ stated without preamble. 

"He has Korea?" 

"He has that the pilot was downed, and he has that we don't know what the hell he was doing up there in the first place," she replied. 

"Christ... " 

"Yeah." Running a hand through her hair, she said, "I told him what you told me to say, earlier." 

"Good, good," he replied, distracted. 

"I told him, due to the security issues involved, the White House cannot comment," she elaborated, just as preoccupied as Leo was. 

"Does he have a source?" 

"He wouldn't tell me," she answered quietly. "Leo-" 

"I'll tell the President, we'll have an answer for you," he said, cutting her off. 

She regarded him quietly for a moment, a frown on her face. "Leo," she began softly. "You look bad." 

"I'm fine," he said. "It's just been... I'm fine." 

"Have you had dinner yet?" 

"What are you, my mother?" Leo snapped good-naturedly. 

"It's just that you haven't had breakfast, and I doubt you had lunch," she said, sounding very much so like a mother. 

He sighed, a withered breath half-caught in his throat. "I've got to go talk to the President about this. I'm fine, CJ." 

She nodded as Leo got up from behind his desk. "I'm sorry, Leo." At his questioning glance, she added, "About earlier. I shouldn't have yelled." 

"Nah," he said, brushing it off. "It--I shouldn't have told you like that. It was sudden." 

"Yeah," she said. A kind of awkward silence filled the space, and she finally said, "I guess I'll go now." 

"Okay," he said quietly, walking the short corridor to the Oval Office. 

[Friday: 7 PM] 

Mallory pulled the business card out of her purse. Hesitating only slightly, she picked up the phone. 

"Here goes nothin'," she muttered to herself as she dialed the number. 

[Friday: 9 PM] 

The President walked out the door, and Leo followed. Behind them, behind the slowly shutting door to the Situation Room, worked generals and admirals and top-level government officials, planning and staging a covert rescue operation. 

"Leo, swear to God this better not be another Punta Mayo," Bartlet breathed, rolling his shoulders back and walking back upstairs. "I swear." 

"It won't be," Leo assured him, a step behind and a little to the left of Bartlet as they walked. 

"I don't want it to be, Leo." 

"It won't be." 

[------------] 

Sam put the finishing touches on the latest revision of his latest speech. Tomorrow, he would have Toby look it over. 

Tonight, he waited for Leo's call. It had been around two hours since he had left Leo's office, and he had yet to hear from his boss. 

"Cathy," he asked over the intercom. "Can you call Leo's office, see if he's in yet?" 

"Margaret just called," she replied. "He's gonna be with the President for a while." 

Sam nodded, knowing in the back of his mind that Cathy would not be able to see that gesture. "Do you know if he'll be seeing me later tonight?" 

"Hang on a sec." He waited a few short moments, then heard, "Margaret says he won't. Look like class let out early for you, Sam." 

Again, he nodded. "Thanks, Cathy." 

He went home. 

[------------] 

"Leo, you look how I feel." 

"I'm fine, sir." 

"This won't happen for a few hours. We won't hear about it until tomorrow morning. Go get some rest." 

Leo rubbed the grittiness out of his eyes. "You're here, sir." 

"I live here, Leo," Bartlet replied. "Go home." 

"It's only nine!" he stated. "I'm fine, sir. I have a couch." 

"You also have a bed, not too far from here," Bartlet pointed out. "Go home, and get some sleep." 

"Sir-" 

"Go home, Leo," Bartlet said in a harder voice. "You've got a cold, or allergies, or Ebola, or whatever, and you look like shit. Sleep. Shower. Shave." 

Leo opened his mouth to protest, but resigned himself to merely sighing in consternation as Bartlet shot him that look that meant that there was no room for argument. 

He went home. 

He dropped his keys on the corner table, and hung his coat up, more tired than he cared to admit. Briefcase still in hand, he walked to the bedroom; as he pulled off his tie with his free hand, he saw the answering machine light blinking at him. Dropping his briefcase, he went over to the machine and pressed the play button. 

The tape whirred as it rewound itself. First message: inconsequential. Second message: inconsequential. 

Third message: "I'm sorry; I was calling for Mallory." Click. 

No. He slammed his thumb onto the stop button before the tape could erase itself, played the message back again. Again, he stopped it short of erasure. 

No. "No," he said, shaking his head at the voice on the machine. "No." He let it erase, and he picked up the handset, hands almost moving on their own will. Dialing with frenetically shaking fingers, he waited impatiently until the phone was picked up. 

"Hello?" Mallory asked. 

"Mallory," Leo began, not knowing where to go. "Mallory, did you meet a man-" 

"Dad, what-" 

"Mal-" She was safe. She was safe, and he had no idea why he was calling her, because his father was dead, even though the voice on the answering machine was definitely, without a doubt, Michael McGarry's. "Nothing," he finally said, quietly. "I'm sorry, baby." 

Mallory listened in confusion as her father hung up. She turned back to her guest, smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Michael. My dad just called, I don't know what he wanted." 

Michael smiled. "'Sokay," he replied, sipping at his glass of wine. 

[Saturday: 3 AM] 

"You look good, John." 

The Vice President opened his eyes, and they glittered in the maddening dark. His wife still lay in his arms, asleep and peaceful. He could see nobody in the room, even though he'd heard a voice; the silhouettes of his bedroom furniture, and the shadows of the trees outside were the only things that greeted his sight, and nothing looked disturbed. The voice was familiar, though, and he knew the peculiar scent that always accompanied the owner of that voice would linger long after the man was gone. Careful not to disturb his wife, he inhaled the air softly. 

He smelled, vaguely, firecrackers. 

[------------] 

Leo was pulled from his restless sleep by the shrill ringing of the telephone. He grabbed the black phone on his bedside, put the receiver to his ear; the phone was still ringing. Waking up, he put the black receiver back and reached over to the other side to get the red one. 

"What happened?" he said, grogginess completely gone from his voice. 

It was Admiral Fitzwallace. "There's been a development. The rescue effort's been compromised." 

Within minutes of hanging up, Leo was out the door and on his way back to the office. The situation room was furious with activity, and he could barely get through the military types to the national security advisor. 

"Nancy, what happened?" 

"We're not quite sure," she said tautly as she worked her way through page after page of incoming reports. "They were spotted." 

"Who was spotted?" he demanded. "Where's the President?" 

"The rescue team," Nancy said before turning to face a soldier who was addressing her. "Excuse me." 

The room became quieter as she listened to a phone call. It became deathly silent as her shoulders sagged. 

She hung up the phone and turned to face the rest of the room. "Bad news." 

"Can't we get the good news first?" Fitz quipped, trying to break the heaviness in the room. 

"Well, that would be dependant on there *being* good news," Nancy replied. "They're all dead." 

"Shit," Leo muttered. "What about the pilot?" 

"Him, too," Nancy confirmed. "They're all dead." 

Fitzwallace sat down heavily in a chair. "This has gotta be some sort of bizarre curse." 

"You're tellin' me," Nancy quipped. Taking a deep breath, she glanced away and composed herself before turning back to Leo. "Could you go tell the President?" 

Leo ran a shaky hand over the back of his head, looked away, put a hand on his hip. "We're sure what happened?" 

"Positive," she replied. 

"Because communications were down in South-" 

"Leo," she interrupted, shaking her head. "We're positive." 

He nodded and left the room. Glancing at his watch, he hesitated; it was barely three in the morning. He trudged up to his office and collapsed in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment before calling up to the Residence. 

"I'm going to kill you," Bartlet answered, his eyes still closed as the phone rested wearily by his ear. 

"Sir, there's been a development," Leo stated quietly. "Should I come up, or... " 

"What happened?" Bartlet asked, instantly awake. 

"The rescue operation failed," Leo explained. "Nobody survived." 

There was a silence on the line for a good while. "Nobody?" Bartlet repeated, his voice sounding distant. 

"Yes, sir," Leo confirmed. 

Again, silence filled the space between them, and Leo waited for Bartlet's response. 

"I said I didn't want another Punta Mayo," Bartlet said at last. 

"Yes, sir." 

"I want the bodies of those men returned, Leo, and I don't care what it takes to get 'em back," he added, his voice booking no room for argument. 

"I'll get Nancy and Fitz to work on it," Leo replied. 

"I want 'em back," Bartlet repeated, his voice harder, rougher. 

"Yes, sir." 

The line went dead with a slam, and Leo paused for a moment before putting the handset back on the cradle. "Hell," he muttered, and it sounded loud in his quiet, dark office. He looked up, startled at the sound of his own voice, and suppressed a shudder. Dialing the situation room, he waited uncomfortably for someone to pick up the phone. As soon as he got a connection, he asked for Nancy and told her exactly what Bartlet had told him just moments earlier. 

"We're gonna do everything we can, Leo," she replied before he let her hang up. 

Slowly, he heaved himself up out of the chair and made his way to the couch. There were still a few hours before his day would officially begin, and he still needed sleep, so he lay down and closed his eyes against the lights of the urban night. 

Moments later, he opened his eyes again, sleep having evaded him. 

[------------] 

"What are you doing here?" Hoynes whispered in the darkness, conscious of his wife who still lay sleeping on the bed. 

"I can't pay you a visit anymore?" the Devil replied, his frame smoothly morphing out of the darkness. "Come, now, John. I thought we were past that stage." 

The Vice President peered at the slim man in the dark. "Go away," he hissed. "You really shouldn't be here." 

"I don't think He'll mind, if we don't tell him," the Devil replied, walking around to the side of the bed that Hoynes was on. "You never call, John," he continued in an acerbic, slightly mocking voice. "I miss you." 

"Shut up," Hoynes snapped, glancing at his wife. "Get out of here." 

"She won't be waking up any time soon," the Devil scoffed. Off Hoynes' horrified look he added, "I mean, she's fast asleep. She's perfectly fine." 

Giving his wife one more glance, Hoynes got up and walked out the door. When he realized the Devil wasn't following, he turned and said, "You wanna talk, we're doing it out here. Otherwise, leave." 

"My, my, somebody's a little cranky today." 

Hoynes stalked out of the bedroom and waited for the Devil to follow. "What are you doing here?" 

"You know," the Devil replied. "You met Stone already, gave him that head start. Why do you ask a question to which you already know the answer, mortal?" 

Hoynes bristled at the taunting way the Devil said that last word. "What are you doing here?" he repeated. 

"I just dropped by to say hello," the Devil answered. "I haven't seen you in forever, dear Jomiael." 

Glaring at him, Hoynes stated quietly, "Don't call me that. You don't know who's listening." 

"Of course I do," the Devil laughed loudly. "Nobody. Everyone's asleep, you mortal fool." 

"Get out of here," he said, a little louder than before. "Now." 

"Oh, poor Jomiael," the Devil taunted. "I'm going to mess up your chances of getting back in His favor, am I? Poor you. You were weak and fell to earth, and got cursed to spend eternity down here, with these disgusting pigs." 

"Shut up!" he growled, stalking as far away from the Devil as he could, though he knew that wherever he went, the Devil could follow. "Get out of here." 

"You could come back with me, right now, you know," the Devil went on. "We could rule the underworld together. You could fly again, Jomiael." 

"I told you, stop calling me that," Hoynes snapped from the other end of the room. "My name is-" 

"For thousands of years your name has been Jomiael," the Devil interrupted. "I don't care what you're calling yourself today, my friend. You are Jomiael, as I am Satanail." 

"You are *Satan*," Hoynes corrected him. "You lost His blessings when you went against him, remember?" The Devil looked startled, and Hoynes took his opportunity. "I have been with what you call pigs for only a short moment. A short moment with them for the chance to spend the rest of eternity with Him is much more palatable a choice than spending forever with *you*." 

The Devil regarded him with simmering eyes. "You don't mean that." 

"Get out," was all Hoynes said. The Devil disappeared, fading back into the shadows, and all that was left of him was his image burned into Hoynes' short-term memory, and the faint smell of gunpowder. 

[Saturday: 7 AM] 

Lionel Tribbey walked into Margaret's office. "Is he in?" 

"Good morning to you, too," Margaret replied, without even raising her head from her work. "How are you Margaret? I'm fine, thank you, Lionel. Oh, that's nice; how was your evening, Margaret? Just fine, thanks." She paused and peered at him. "Isn't that what you meant to say?" 

He glared at her. "You are a strange, strange woman." 

She nodded and went back to work. "I'll accept that." 

"Is he in?" 

"Yeah," she answered. "Go on in." 

Tribbey walked into the office, shaking his head a bit. "Leo, you gotta get a new assistant. Your old one's getting batty." 

Leo, who had not noticed Tribbey's entrance, looked up from his desk in a slightly startled fashion. "It's time?" 

"To get a new assistant?" Tribbey said. "Yeah, I think-" 

"What?" 

Tribbey regarded him with a taint of concern. "Leo, you look like a stray dog. What time did you get in today?" 

"I'm fine," Leo said. "Let's get this thing over with." 

"You know, you're facing a grand jury, not the Glenmont Gardening Club," Tribbey stated. "You need to look not half-dead." 

"Yeah," Leo replied, getting up. "Let's go do this." 

The ride to the courtroom was quiet, and it was all Leo could do to keep awake; this was not lost on Tribbey, who, every now and again, would try and engage Leo in some form of conversation. Though Leo was fairly unreceptive, Tribbey was able to glean that Leo had barely averaged two hours of sleep a night for the past week or so. 

"The hell is going on that you can't sleep, Leo?" he'd finally asked, just before they'd gotten to their destination. 

"Nothing," Leo answered listlessly as he got out of the car. 

The questioning was underway soon enough, Leo being the only witness that day. The prosecutor skipped most formalities, and immediately brought up the letter. 

"It couldn't be real," Leo stated. "My father committed suicide." 

"And yet there is no sign that this is a forgery," the prosecutor countered. 

"There are secretaries in this world who can flawlessly forge their bosses' signatures," Leo snapped. "It's perfectly possible that that is a forgery. I didn't-" He swallowed hard and leaned back into his chair. "It's a forgery." 

The questioning went on like that for a little longer, but the prosecutor gave up after a while; the judge was growing tired of the ordeal, and Tribbey would object every now and again, citing that his client was just growing more aggravated. 

They were back in the car, heading back to the White House. Tribbey, growing even more worried as he thought about Leo's less than spectacular performance on the stand, asked, "You okay?" 

"I'm fine," Leo answered quietly. "I'm just a little tired." 

"I'll bet," Tribbey retorted. "You should, I dunno. Get some actual sleep." 

"I'm getting sleep," Leo replied. "I get sleep." 

"You told me earlier that you get two hours a night, if that." 

Leo turned to look at him, a little surprised. "I did? When?" 

"On the ride over." Tribbey stared at him for a moment, his worry growing even more. "You mean to tell me you don't remember that? It wasn't even an hour ago." 

"I remember," Leo lied quickly, turning back to the window. "I'm fine." 

"Whatever," Tribbey scoffed, turning to his own window. "'I'm fine,' you say. And yet you can't even remember a conversation from an hour ago." 

The car rolled to a stop, right outside the White House. Leo got out wordlessly, and shut the car door behind him. He knew that Tribbey wasn't following him, so he walked inside without a backward glance. 

He went to his desk and called for Margaret. Upon her entry, he asked, "Is Sam in?" 

"Hang on a sec," she replied before darting into her office. A moment later, she returned, saying, "Cathy says he called in sick. Stomach flu, or something." 

"Okay," Leo said, reaching for some folders on his desk. "I'm gonna go over this budget thing, make sure nobody bugs me for a while." 

"You've got a meeting with the leadership in half an hour," Margaret reminded him. "It's gonna take up most of the day." 

He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and said, "Fine." He took a deep breath, and tried to think of what he needed to do. "Get me CJ," he said after a moment. 

Margaret nodded and left. A few minutes later, CJ was entering his office. "How'd the grand jury go?" she asked by way of conversation. 

"Doesn't matter," Leo responded in a clipped tone. "The rescue operation failed." 

For a moment, all CJ could do was stand there, in front of his desk, floored. She sat down finally, and asked, "What do you mean, 'failed'?" 

"It failed, CJ," he snapped. "Completely and utterly, everyone's just ... " His voice trailed off and he looked away for a moment. "The mission failed." 

"They're dead?" CJ asked incredulously. "You mean they're dead?" 

"Yeah." 

She raked her fingers through her hair. "What are we telling the press?" 

"I don't know," he replied quietly. He got up and walked to Margaret's office suddenly, and said, "Get me Toby. And, uh... yeah, get me Sam and Josh, too." 

"Sam's at home, sick," Margaret reminded him. 

"He is?" Leo said, as if this were his first time hearing it. 

Margaret nodded slowly, wondering how Leo had already forgotten. "Do you want me to call him in anyway?" 

"No, no," Leo answered quickly. "Get me Toby and Josh." As an afterthought, he asked, "My meeting's in, what, twenty minutes now?" 

"Yeah, in the Mural Room," Margaret replied as she rang up the two staffers. 

It only took a minute for Toby and Josh to show up, and only another minute for Leo to brief them on the situation. "I'm going to talk to the leadership, I should be back in a couple of hours," he began. "I want a response to the press on this when I get back. Margaret can fill you in on any details that you need." 

Margaret, standing in the doorway, glanced between him and the staff nervously. "You're meeting'll take more than a couple of hours, Leo-" 

"Then I'll take a break in two hours," he snapped. "I want a response by then," he added, turning back to his staff. 

They chorused variants of consent as he walked out. 

[Saturday: 8 AM] 

Mallory groaned and buried her head under her pillow. Unfortunately, the phone kept ringing, and her arm shot out from under the sheets to answer it. 

"Hello?" she asked groggily. 

"Hey, I hope I didn't wake you," came the sweet, accented voice on the other end. 

"You did," she complained with a smile on her face. "But I forgive you." 

Michael laughed, and Mallory thought it sounded fake over the phone. "I'm sorry, but it's nine o'clock, dear. You should be up." 

"I'm up before the sun every other day of the week," she retorted, the smile growing into a grin. "Saturday I sleep in. Not my fault I didn't inherit my dad's wake-up-early genes." 

He almost told her that Leo never woke up early as a youth, but he caught himself in time. "Would you like to go get some breakfast?" he asked instead. "I know a place near where you live." 

"Sure," she smiled. "In an hour?" 

"An hour?" he repeated with an incredulous laugh. "Fine. I'd forgotten how long it takes you lazy sleepers to wake up." 

"Just for that, I'm... I don't know what I'm gonna do, but it'll be bad," she quipped, rolling out of bed. 

"Whatever you do, I'll be there at ten," he replied. 

"Kay," she yawned. "I'll see ya." 

"Bye, then," Michael replied. Hanging up, he thought of just how easy this would all be. In an hour, he was parked in front of her house, and he noted with some snide satisfaction that the rest of the cul-de-sac neighborhood was mostly quiet and inactive outside. He got outside of his car, walked up to the door and rang the bell. 

"Hey," Mallory greeted as she opened the door. 

"Hey," he returned. "Ready?" 

"Sure." They walked to his car, and he let her in before going around to the driver's seat. Once in, he pulled something out from between the driver's seat and door as she pulled on her seatbelt. 

She eyed him curiously as he just sat there, looking at her. "What?" she said, laughing a little self-consciously. 

He shrugged. "Nothing," he replied, leaning over and clasping a chloroform-soaked cloth over her mouth and nose. She passed out, and he waited a few moments just to be sure. With a satisfied smile, he cuffed her hands and feet, and drove off. 

[Saturday: 9:05 AM] 

"Stone." 

He looked behind him, startled. Passersby didn't notice him in the alley, looking across the street, and they didn't notice when Satan suddenly appeared behind him. "Yeah?" he said. 

"He hasn't come in yet, has he?" the Devil asked. His tone was that of one who already knew the answer to the question, and his countenance was far more somber than usual. 

It wasn't lost on Stone as he glanced back at the precinct house. "No," he replied. "You know why, don't you?" 

"He's kidnapped his granddaughter," the Devil replied. "He won't be coming in today, took the day off." 

Stone took one last look at the precinct house; when he turned back around, the Devil was gone. Shaking his head, he went into the street and tried to hail a cab. When that failed, he took off at a jog towards the OEOB. 

He got there a few minutes later, and made his way to the Vice President's office as quickly as possible. Janeane was at her desk, and he asked, "Is he in?" 

"I'm sorry sir, he's in a meeting," the secretary replied, barely looking up from her work. "Would you like to schedule another appointment?" 

"No, just tell him Ezekiel Stone needs to see him, he'll know how to get in touch with me," he answered, trying to figure out what to do next. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Sir?" 

"What's the name of Leo McGarry's daughter?" 

Janeane looked at him, stumbling a little from the question. "Mallory O'Brien," she replied after a moment to compose herself. 

"Thanks," he said, already out the door. As soon as he got outside, it hit him: there would be no way to get into the White House. Not without getting shot, anyway. Thinking quickly, he ran to the Mall and joined the line for a ticket for a White House tour. It not being tourist season, the line was fairly short, and he got a ticket for the next tour quite easily. 

It was around ten by the time he finally got into the White House, and around ten-fifteen that he was able to slip away from the rest of the tour group. Dressed in a suit, he blended in with the staffers and interns who passed around him as he went off in search of the Chief of Staff's office. 

It didn't take long, oddly enough; however, when he got there, he was informed by the secretary that Leo was in a meeting. 

"Did you have an appointment?" she asked, a little warily. 

"No--no, just tell him that Ezekiel Stone, from the Vice President's office, needs to speak with him," he replied before turning to leave. "Hey, do you know when he'll be back?" 

"He's in meetings all day... who are you?" He was already out the door. 

[Saturday: 11:30 PM] 

He had his notes laid out before him, and the computer screen was a white monolith of writer's block; CJ's briefing had been spare, at best, and now Danny didn't have any idea on how to approach this vaguely described, obviously fouled-up military operation. No names had been given, no reasons for the pilot to have been flying so close to North Korea, and no official response from the North Korean government had been issued. He had nothing to go on, except for the fact that the plane had crashed, and the pilot and his rescue team were dead. 

He rubbed the grit out of his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. The glare of the computer was starting to burn his vision, and he turned off the monitor, hoping to save his eyes from further pain. Suddenly, the phone rang, and he started from the noise. "Damn," he muttered, reaching for the phone. "Hello?" 

"Is this Danny Concannon?" asked the man on the other end. 

"Yeah, who's this?" Danny replied wearily. 

"I've got some information you might be interested in," the man went on without introduction. 

Danny chuckled to himself and shook his head; not a day went by that some local prankster didn't try to pass on some "information" that had neither basis nor application to anything. "And what information would that be?" he asked, amused. 

"Mallory O'Brien's been kidnapped," the man answered. 

The amused smile stayed on Danny's face, but his brows furrowed with incredulity. "That's quite a claim, there, sir," he began. "Why should I believe you?" 

"I'm a sergeant in the DCPD. Try giving Ms. O'Brien a call, if you don't believe me," he replied before hanging up. 

Danny pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it in curious confusion before putting it back down. A bit of worry wormed its way to the front of his mind, and he got up to head to CJ's office. 

When he got there, CJ was just leaving the office to go somewhere else. "CJ," he called to her, hoping to get her back inside the office. 

"If this is about the last briefing, Danny," she warned, walking down the hall. 

"It's not," he replied, grabbing her arm and guiding the confused press secretary back to her office. "We need to talk." 

She stared at him, flustered by the way he'd forced her back into the office and closed the door. "What?" 

"I got a tip, just now--I mean, it's unsubstantiated, and-" 

"Danny, you know I can't give you anything-" 

"Off the record," he interrupted. "I got a call from a guy who says Leo's daughter's been kidnapped." 

CJ was floored. "Danny, how--I mean, where did you hear this?" 

"Some guy," he replied quietly. "CJ... keep in mind, I don't know this source, and it's totally unsubstantiated. But, I dunno. I've got a bad feeling about this one, CJ, I really do." 

A silent, chill moment hung between them before CJ asked, "What did he say?" 

"He said try calling her if I didn't believe him." 

She nodded and started to walk out of her office. "Danny," she said, standing in the doorway, "this is all off the record, right?" 

"Yeah," he agreed. "Let me know if she's okay. Off the record." 

"Yeah... wait here, Danny." She walked out the door, and made her way to Leo's office. He was still in the meeting with the Congressional leadership, so she went to Margaret instead. 

"Hey, Margaret," she greeted, worry tingeing her voice. 

"Hey," Margaret replied. "What do you need?" 

"Can you call Mallory for me? At her house?" 

A little confused, Margaret nodded and dialed the number. The phone rang a few times before the answering machine picked up. "She's not there," Margaret stated after leaving a message. 

CJ nodded and ran a hand through her hair, pacing a little. "Can you call her cell phone?" 

Margaret did that, and found that it was turned off. "Want me to try school?" 

"Yeah." 

A few moments later, Margaret reported, "She's not there either." 

"Try paging her?" 

"Yeah," she said, and they waited for Mallory to page back. About ten minutes passed, with Margaret back at work and CJ pacing the small office, before CJ turned to the secretary. 

"Margaret, did Leo mention Mallory going on vacation or anything?" she asked. 

"No," she answered, her own worry growing. 

"Go get Leo, please," CJ asked. "Don't tell him anything, just get him up here." 

[------------] 

Mallory awoke, and grunted in discomfort. Upon realizing that there were ropes tying her down, she opened her eyes and squinted at her new surroundings. She was horizontal, that much she could tell; her arms were above her head, together at the wrists, and her legs seemed to be tied down also. 

She blinked at a sudden flash of light, turning away as the flash-blindness temporarily took her sight. "Who's there," she tried to ask, only to find that she had been gagged, on top of being bound. 

"It's me," answered a familiar, accented voice, as if he knew her question without even hearing it. "And that just won't do at all." 

She stared up at Michael, blinking out the last of the blindness as he came towards her. There was a small square piece of plasticky paper in one of his hands, and a Polaroid camera in another; peering at the square, she saw it was a half-developed instant photo of her on the bed. Iron-rail head, she noted, and rope about an inch thick. There was a purplish bruise forming around her right eye in the photo, but she couldn't feel it at all. 

Unnervingly smooth hands ripped her shirt, and she flinched away at the unbearable chill in that foreign, invasive touch. "I won't do anything to you," he stated in an almost disgusted voice. A click; and there was another flash, blinding her again. In her temporary blindness, she heard the springs creak and felt the bed depress as Michael sat down beside her. She squirmed away at the sound of his breathing, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. 

"You think I'd do anything to you?" he asked in that same, disgusted voice. There was another click, but she was ready for the flash this time: she closed her eyes. "I wouldn't touch you if you paid me to do it." Another click, but she wasn't ready, and it again blinded her. "This is between your father and me. You just happened to fall into my lap." 

The bed groaned at his departure, and Mallory listened as he left the room. She heard doors closing, and discipline replaced the fear that was weighing in the recesses of her chest. Tentatively, she pulled at the rope binding her wrists; it was strong, and ungiving. 

Her frustration only lasted a short second, and she ran her fingers up and down the shaft of metal that the rope was bound around. Eyes wide, she passed her hand once, then twice, over a sudden, sharp abrasion on the metal. Her eyes finally readjusted to the level of light in the room, she began grating the rope against that sharp bit, straining every now and again to try and see it. 

She had no idea how long Michael would be away, but she'd be damned if she was around to see his return. 

[Saturday: 11:46 AM] 

Leo stalked into his office, Margaret close behind. The day was still new, and already it was as shitty as the last had been. He swung open his office door and grimaced at the sight that waited for him. "CJ, I was in the middle of a meeting-" he started, but he cut himself off when he noticed the pensive looks on both CJ's and Danny's faces. Closing the door behind him, he asked, "What?" 

CJ looked at Danny, who stepped towards Leo haltingly. "I, uh, I got a call--this is totally off the record, Leo. Everything, from here on out, I'm not being a reporter." 

"Yeah," Leo said, sitting down as he became wary and worried. "Go on." 

"I got a call, and the guy said that your daughter's been kidnapped," he finished quietly. 

"Oh," Leo breathed, shoulders falling and chest collapsing into himself. "What... CJ?" 

"Margaret tried contacting her, but... " CJ shrugged, her arms crossed over her chest. "I mean, she could be out shopping, or-" 

"Okay," Leo said, nodding; his voice was shaky, and he didn't seem to acknowledge the cold sweat that was clamming up his palms. "She could've gone shopping." 

Danny kneeled in front of Leo, made sure he caught his eyes. "Leo, I'm keeping this under wraps because you all are friends, but... I don't know who else has this, and I don't know... I mean, the veracity of this claim is in question-" 

"What did he sound like?" Leo interrupted, his voice seeming very small in the otherwise quiet office. 

Danny shook his head and blinked, uncomprehending. "What?" 

"The man, on the phone. It's important you tell me what he sounded like," Leo explained; still, his voice remained barely above a whisper, and it was higher than normal. 

"I, uh... I don't-" Danny bit his lip and shook his head. "He had an accent. I don't know. Um, English, or, or Irish or something." 

Leo could feel the blood rushing cold through his veins, could feel the heat rising off his skin as he ran a shaky hand over his face. "What did his voice sound like?" he managed to get out. "Was it--what, high, low, what was it?" 

"It was, I dunno Leo, it was like yours, except a different accent," Danny replied, his own agitation growing as he witnessed Leo's. 

The phone rang. 

It was shrill, and it was electric. CJ jumped at the first ring, having been far too caught up in the human interactions in that room for her own good. Danny and Leo stared at it for a second, as if wondering where the offending device had come from. 

On the second ring, Leo reached for it, knocking over files and pages and maybe a desk organizer as he grabbed. "Hello?" 

"Leo, the leadership wants to know if you'll be back or if they should reschedule," Margaret stated calmly. 

He let out an audible sigh, which caused both CJ and Danny to relax also. "Aw, fu--ah, reschedule. Tell 'em, something, something's come up." He turned to CJ and Danny, and hung up the phone. "Christ... where's my daughter?" he mumbled, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Where is she?" 

Hesitantly, Danny reached out to touch his shoulder. "Leo, I just want you to know, I'll sit on this for as long as I can." 

Leo looked up at him, haggard and seeming to have noticed Danny's presence only just then. "What?" he asked absently. 

"I'll keep the lid on it," Danny explained softly. "Leo, are you okay?"  
  

"I don't know where Mallory is," he replied, and his words were not scathing; rather, they were a statement, one that said just what they seemed to say. "I don't know where my baby is." 

CJ watched as Danny tried to talk to Leo, and went to see Margaret. "Margaret, could you get the President in Leo's office, like, now?" 

She nodded, her red hair bobbing a little as she did. CJ walked back into Leo's office, and, moments later, the President came in. 

He eyed the three of them warily: CJ, eyes closed, leaned against the wall, Danny, of all people, trying to talk Leo, of all people, down from whatever place in his head that he was stuck in. "What the hell happened?" 

"I don't know where Mallory is," Leo replied, tears finally beginning to streak down his face. 

Bartlet shook his head, fear growing but still not quite getting it. "Why--I mean-" 

"Danny got a phone call a little while ago from someone who claimed she was kidnapped," CJ elaborated wearily. "We can't get a hold of her." 

"But, for all we know, she could just be in the shower or something," Danny added, mostly for Leo's benefit. 

"It's just the timing," CJ muttered, slumping into a chair. 

Bartlet picked up the phone and dialed a number. A moment later, he slammed the phone down. "CJ, Danny, would you excuse us for a moment?" 

The two left, and Bartlet kneeled in front of Leo. "She didn't answer, and I didn't bother to leave a message. What do you want to do?" 

"I wanna find Mallory," he replied shakily. 

Bartlet nodded, and stood up with a grunt. "Leo, I'm going to get Ron to send some guys down to her place," he stated. 

A modicum of professionalism returning, Leo swiped his hand over his eyes and shook his head. "Sir, that's-" 

"Not illegal, actually," Bartlet interjected. "Leo, I'm gonna send some agents over there, it'll be real quiet, and nobody'll know besides us." 

Leo made a vague motion to the door, that professionalism about to break down again. "Danny-" 

"Hang on a sec," Bartlet stated, as he walked to the hallway. "Daniel! Come in here for a minute, will ya?" 

The red-headed reporter came in quickly, and glanced at Leo before turning his attention back to the president. "Yes, sir?" 

"This is all confidential, right?" Bartlet asked. 

"If it gets out, it won't be from me," Danny replied. "Promise." 

The President turned to face Leo, and said, "No leaks. And if anyone--Danny, could you go get-" 

"I'll get CJ," he nodded, leaving. CJ came in a short moment later, and Bartlet figured that Danny was waiting right outside, ready to come back in at a moment's notice. 

"CJ, I'm sending him home-" 

"Sir," Leo objected, albeit weakly. "I-" 

"I'm sending him home," Bartlet continued, unperturbed, "and if anyone asks, you say it's a family emergency that Mr. McGarry would not like to disclose at this time." Running a hand through his hair, he turned to Leo and asked, "Who else knows besides CJ and Danny?" 

Leo turned his eyes up to CJ questioningly; in his haste to find out if his daughter was all right, he had not asked her that question. "CJ?" 

"Nobody, but Margaret might have an inkling," CJ replied. "Want me to talk to her?" 

"Please," Bartlet nodded. "Thanks. And tell Danny thanks, too." As she left, he looked to Leo and asked, "Where's Jenny?" 

"I--she's in, I dunno," he stuttered. "I gotta call her... " He reached for the phone, but felt a hand keep him from picking up the handset. 

"Leo," Bartlet began quietly. "Don't be Chief of Staff on this." His own eyes moist from worry over his goddaughter, he sat down beside Leo and waited as he called Jenny. 

Leo put the phone down moments later. "Her cell phone's off. I can't get her." He picked up the phone again, and dialed another number; again, moments later, he hung up. "Mallory's still not answering, either." 

Bartlet reached for the phone and called down to the Secret Service agents. When he hung up, he told Leo, "I've sent a team down to her place, Leo. They should have something in half an hour. You ready to go home?" 

He wouldn't be able to concentrate on work, he knew, so he nodded his consent. "I guess," he mumbled. 

"I'll get a guy to take you," the President offered, standing up. "Call me when you get there, okay?" 

"Yeah," Leo replied, getting up. "I'll, um. If you get word-" 

"I'll get someone to pick you up and bring you here," he finished. There was a silence between them, awkward, before Bartlet took a step towards Leo and said, "C'mere." 

They embraced, and Bartlet could feel the shock settling into his friend. He knew that, as president, there was always that threat of kidnapping that hung over his daughters and granddaughter, but he could barely fathom what that would do to him, except for the broad idea of incapacitation. And now, here he was faced with the seeming disappearance of a woman who might as well be one of his own children... 

"We'll find her," he said, more for himself than for Leo; he could feel his cheeks getting cool where the trails of his tears were evaporating, and he knew from the moisture on his shoulder that Leo had also given in once more. 

It was Leo who pulled away, nodding and wiping his eyes. "I gotta call Jenny," he said hoarsely. "I gotta try again." 

"You've gotta go home," Bartlet stated, his hands still on Leo's shoulders. "You can try to call her again from there, but I don't want you stressing yourself out more by staying here. Go downstairs, I'll have a driver waiting for you." 

Leo looked away for a second, as if in thought. Then, he looked back at Bartlet and asked, "What am I gonna do?" 

He wondered, briefly, if Leo meant what was he going to do when he got home, or what was he going to do if the agents still couldn't find Mallory. Assuming the former, the President replied, "You'll get some rest, find something to eat. You'll try and fight off that cold that's been bothering you of late," he added pointedly. "But remember to call me when you get there, okay?" 

Nodding, Leo allowed Bartlet to lead him out into the hallway. "I will," he promised. "You'll call if you find out anything?" 

"Yeah," Bartlet answered. "Danny, could you take Leo down to the foyer?" 

"Yes, sir," Danny replied. He'd been waiting in the hall since he'd been sent out, just in case they'd needed to see him again. He gladly walked alongside Leo as they left, seeming more like a guard of some sort than a reporter. Within a few minutes, they were at the entryway, and a driver was waiting for Leo. 

There was someone else there, also, an angle-faced man in a suit. "Excuse me, Mr. McGarry?" he asked, as Leo was getting into the car. 

"Yeah," he said, pausing at the car door. "Who're you?" 

"I'm with the press," he lied quickly. 

Danny eyed him suspiciously. "Leo, get in the car," he said, still staring at the short-haired "reporter". He closed the door behind the chief of staff, and hit the top of the car, signaling the driver to go. As the car sped off, he asked, "I'm sorry, do I know you? You look kind of familiar." 

"I'm new," Stone replied, almost recognizing the bearded man, but not really. 

Danny regarded him warily. "Are you lost? Come on, I'll take you to the press area." 

Following him quickly, Stone said quietly, "I actually needed to talk to Mr. McGarry." 

"Well, as you saw, Mr. McGarry just left, so I'm guessin' you won't be talking to him today," Danny quipped. 

"It's about his daughter." 

Immediately, Danny turned around and grabbed Stone by his lapels, and slammed him against the nearest wall. "The hell do you know about her?" he hissed through clenched teeth. 

"I-" 

"Who *are* you?" 

"Danny?" 

They both turned to see CJ standing in front of a crowd of curious and worried staffers. "CJ, this guy-" Danny began, only to be cut off. 

"I'm not some psycho," Stone said. Turning to Danny, he added, "And, no, I'm not a reporter. I know the Vice President-" 

"Where's your ID then?" Danny asked, pushing him harder against the wall to accentuate his words. 

"I don't have any," Stone admitted. "But you have to-" 

CJ, meanwhile, had motioned to the guards in the foyer. The uniformed agents gathered around the two men and pulled Danny off before grabbing Stone. 

"Who are you?" CJ yelled as the guards dragged him away. 

"Ezekiel Stone, remember it," Stone replied, struggling against the uniformed guards. 

They pulled him out of the building completely before he stopped fighting. Then, one of the guards turned to his compatriots and said, "I'll take care of him, you guys can go." 

Stone glowered at the Devil, dressed in the stark clothing of the uniformed Secret Service agents, and muttered, "What're you doing here?" 

"Saving you from your own brilliance," the Devil quipped caustically. "That was a beautiful show you put on in there. What were you gonna do next, tell 'em you're a dead cop come back from the dead to recapture some escaped damned souls? Great plan, Tonto." 

"Look, what is wrong with you today?" Stone snapped, straightening his suit. 

"What, a fallen angel can't be a little angry every now and again?" the Devil asked mock-innocently. "I hired you to do a job, and I find you prancing about like some sort of raving lunatic in the White House. I could send you back to Hell right now, you know. I saved you in there, for what? So you could prove your ineptitude some more?" 

"Fine, I don't know what I was gonna do in there, okay?" Stone admitted, his voice hissing and low as he tried to ignore the passersby that swarmed around them on this autumn Saturday afternoon. "But you... " He sighed, frustrated at his inability to place what was off about the creature he'd been closely working with for the better part of the last three or four years, the creature he'd know for what seemed to be an eternity. "What's wrong with you?" Stone asked of the Devil. 

But the Devil was already gone. 

[Saturday: 12:30] 

The driver followed him up to his apartment (probably under discrete orders from the President, he thought) and stood in the background as he pushed his key into the door. "You can leave," Leo told the driver as he opened the door, still in a daze from the earlier news (but who wouldn't be, he pondered idly). "I'll give him a call." 

"I'm sorry sir," the driver began, and it sounded hollow. "But I'm under orders to remain with you until you make the call." 

Leo nodded, because he didn't know what else to do; some part of him thought the driver, with his lined and jagged features, dark hair, and darkly burning eyes, looked slightly different from what he'd looked like earlier, but it didn't really register as he stepped into the anteroom of his apartment. 

What registered, instead, was the sight of a half dozen or so Polaroid photographs laying on the coffee table. Uncomprehendingly, Leo walked over, and picked one up. His daughter, bruised and shirt torn, lay seemingly in pain in every one of the few photos that lay on the tabletop. A permanent-marker note was written on the back of the photo, warning him against telling the authorities. 

First came the look of confusion; a frown, small shake of the head, eyebrows pulled together, crinkling the skin of his forehead. Then, realization hit. His lips parted as his slumping shoulders pushed the air out of his chest, pulled the color out of his face. It brought him to extremes: eyes extremely wide, skin extremely pale, knees extremely weak. 

He might have said something, because the driver rushed to his side. The driver again looked different, no longer angular-faced or dark-eyed, but Leo did not notice. 

"Sir?" the young-faced driver asked, feeling a little disoriented, as if he'd been gone moments earlier. 

"I need... have to call-" 

The driver grabbed the phone and handed it to Leo, pressing it into the palm of his free hand. Leo stood there for a few moments longer, phone in one hand, photo in the other, before his legs finally gave out from under him; the driver guided him to the couch before taking the phone back and dialing a number. 

[------------] 

Hoynes walked into his office, studying the papers in his hands, and did not notice the well-dressed man sitting with arms and legs crossed on his couch. 

"Have you heard the news?" 

His head snapped up, and he jolted, startled and angry. Staring at his unwelcome visitor, the Vice President growled, "Get out." 

Tilting his head to the side, the Devil continued, unperturbed, "McGarry's daughter is gone. She's been kidnapped." 

Closing the door before stalking over to his desk, Hoynes replied, "Now I know the news. Get out." 

"Well, I can't well do that with a closed door, now can I?" 

Giving him a harsh, side-long glance, Hoynes stated, "Cuteness does not become you." 

The Devil raised an eyebrow, and leaned back, stretching his lean arms across the back of the couch. "I've been told otherwise. I was there when McGarry found out, you know." 

"Wouldn't be surprised," Hoynes muttered, sitting down and trying to ignore the Devil's presence. 

The Devil regarded him as he took notes and read pages. "Jomiael, why do you care? Why do you spend your time manipulating them to do better?" 

"Why don't you show yourself out?" was Hoynes' reply. "I've got work to do." 

"I could give you wings again," the Devil stated, leaning forward; under him, the leather of the sofa shifted loudly. "We could rule together." 

With a dry chuckle, Hoynes shook his head. "That's not what I want, and you know it. Now get out." 

Almost as if he were appraising Hoynes, the Devil leaned back and stared at him. "You've been doing this for thousands of years, old friend. What is it you say at your 'card games'? The definition of insanity is repeating something over and over, expecting a different outcome?" 

"Except, I'm not repeating things," Hoynes countered. "I'm doing what I have to, to get what I want; same as you used to do." Looking up from his work, he stared down the Devil. "Difference between you and me is, I just haven't given up." 

The Devil stood up abruptly, pushing papers and objects off desks and tables with the sheer anger in his mind. "I have what I want," he growled. "Don't forget that for a minute." 

"You think you can scare me," Hoynes laughed, "with your parlor tricks? I know you want His forgiveness. You still love Him, but you're an arrogant bastard who can't admit to any wrongdoing." He waited for a response; when he got none, he asked, "Is he more powerful than you?" 

"Who?" 

"Michael McGarry." 

Jaw clenched defiantly, he shook his head. "No. He's probably more powerful than Stone, though." 

"Definitely more powerful than Leo," Hoynes added. 

"Of course," the Devil nodded. "Why do you ask?" 

Hoynes shrugged. "Seemed like good conversation at the time." He glanced at the phone. "You need to go. I might get some people, it'd be tough to explain you away." 

The Devil walked over to his desk. "I could give you everything," he began quietly, leaning on the wood surface. "You'd have power again, immortality, glory. Come with me, Jomiael." 

John Hoynes looked up at the Devil, and shook his head. "I've come too far to falter now. I'm sorry." 

For a moment, it looked as if he would not reply; then, as sudden as he had appeared, the Devil was gone. With a heavy sigh, Hoynes pulled himself out of his chair and started to straighten up his office. 

[------------] 

Bartlet slammed the phone into the cradle. Idly, he thought that he'd been breaking quite a few phones of late, and he glanced at the crack in the plastic structure before stalking into Margaret's office. "I need senior staff and Danny Concannon to meet me in the residence, fifteen minutes. And Sam's home sick?" 

"Yes sir," she replied. "Should I call him in?" 

"Tell him to be here pronto, and when Ron comes here, tell him to come upstairs. Get Tribbey in here, too," Bartlet answered. He started walking out the door, but turned back to her suddenly. "When you're done, I want you to come up to the residence, also." 

She blinked; whatever was going on was still a mystery to her, but she knew it had to do with Leo, and she knew it was bad, whatever it was. "Yes sir," she nodded, trying to keep her fears down. 

Fifteen minutes later, they were gathered in one of the common rooms in the residence; the tone was set. This was not a politically driven meeting, but rather, something touching a little more personal. 

The President was pacing, heightening the nervousness of the gathered group. They were waiting for Sam, and for Leo. When the door finally opened, the staff jolted; it was Sam. 

He looked around the room, and asked, "What's going on?" 

"I'll explain when Leo gets here," Bartlet replied. "Sit down." 

Sam took a seat next to Danny, and wondered what the reporter was doing here. Then he noticed Ron Butterfield, blending into the background, and his chest grew cold. 

The air was pensive for the few minutes before Leo arrived; Sam could tell that both Danny and CJ knew what was coming. Margaret looked as if she knew something about it also, and the rest were just like him: confused, and worried. 

The door opened again, and it was Leo, accompanied by his driver. The President stopped pacing, and turned to him. "I called Abbey," he stated awkwardly. "She's coming down immediately." 

Leo nodded and glanced at everyone present before moving to an empty seat; he had told Bartlet that he wanted the staff to know, but now he questioned his decision. Sitting down, he said, "I didn't get a chance to call Jenny yet. I don't know where she is." 

Bartlet glanced at the Secret Service agent in the shadows. "Ron, when we're through here, track her down so Leo can get a hold of her." Turning back to his staff he began, "I'm not gonna mince words here. Danny here got a call earlier today-" 

"Mallory's been kidnapped," Leo interrupted quietly. They all turned to him, and he tried without success to make eye contact with them. A few moments later, he got up and left, saying, "I'm gonna go call my sisters." 

Bartlet watched the door close behind his best friend, obviously torn between explaining what needed to be done to his staff, and following Leo down to wherever he was going. Eventually, he motioned for Margaret to go with Leo. Then, he turned to his staff, all of whom were looking at him in stunned silence. "We're gonna need a game plan," he said finally. 

For a moment, there was just more silence. "When are we going to break it?" Josh asked, breaking the dark cloud that had settled. 

The President glanced at Ron, who said, "We're not. There was a note that threatened death if anyone got wind of it." 

Toby turned to Danny. "Danny-" 

"I know," the redheaded reporter said solemnly. "I'm not gonna break it, and if I get word that someone else has it, I'll let you know." 

"Danny, if you ever want exclusive privileges to any other story, you got it," Bartlet muttered gratefully. 

"What do we know?" Sam asked awkwardly, trying to keep his panic and anger at bay. The shock of the situation was already wearing off, and he needed something to hold on to: in this case, speech. 

"I got a call, around half past eleven," Danny began. "Some guy who said he was with the DCPD, told me Mallory was kidnapped. I told CJ." 

"I went to Margaret, who tried to call her," CJ stated. "We couldn't get a hold of her, so she went and got Leo while I went and got Danny." 

"The Secret Service checked out Ms. O'Brien's home," Ron added. "No sign of a break-in or struggle, but there were Polaroid photos in Mr. McGarry's apartment. We've sent them to the lab for identification, should have them back-" He stopped and listened to something in his earphone, and spoke quietly into his cuff mike before turning to the President. "Sir, Mr. Tribbey is here." 

"Have him wait in my office," Bartlet replied. "You were saying?" 

"We should have the lab results back early tomorrow," the agent finished. "Right now, we don't have a motive of any sort." 

"Sir," Toby spoke up. "Would you like us to go work on this now?" Though the question seemed cold and uncaring, they could all hear the unvoiced message that was hidden in his inflection: Go be with Leo. 

He rocked on his heels nervously, looked down before replying. "Yeah." As they were getting up, he added, "Folks, this is personal. I know this is weighing heavily on your minds, God knows it is on mine. But we've got jobs to do." 

A chorus of "yes sirs" followed him out the door, and he wondered how he would be able to live up to his own words. 

[Saturday: 12:55 PM] 

The rope was about halfway sawed through when she heard a door slam closed. Mallory stopped immediately, trying her best to hide the damage by keeping the rope as low and out of sight as possible. 

The door to her room opened, and she could see a dingy hallway outside; wherever she was, it wasn't too reputable, she was sure. In stepped her kidnapper, looking as normal as could be. There really was no way to discern that he held any malice towards anyone, no sign of evil. 

"I'm betting you're hungry," he said, dumping a brown bag on the bedside table. "I brought you some soup, and I'm going to take off your gag so you can eat it. If you scream, I'll knock you unconscious and you'll just go hungry." He pulled the cloth away from her mouth before taking the Styrofoam cup of soup out of the bag. 

"Who are you, really?" she asked quietly, praying that he wouldn't be able to see the frayed rope. "What do you want?" 

"Right now," he began, sitting on the bed and dipping a white plastic spoon into the soup, "I want to get you to eat this soup. No need for you to be hungry, now is there? Now eat up." 

She turned her head to the side, and said, "I'm not hungry, thanks." 

He regarded her coldly before dropping the spoon back into the soup. "Fine. I won't be back for another few hours, and if you want to go hungry, you can." He placed the cup onto the bedside table, and got up. "I've got things I need to do anyway." 

"What do you want with my father?" she asked quickly before he could replace her gag. 

It took him a moment, but he cracked a smile at her; it looked familiar. "Did he ever tell you what happened to your grandfather?" 

The look in Michael's eyes seemed to tell her that he knew more than she did on the subject, and she hesitated before answering. "He killed himself," she finally stated, albeit haltingly. 

He chuckled, and shook his head. "Okay. If that's what he told you. You keep believing it." He finally left the room, closing the door behind him. 

She waited a short moment, and began working on the rope again. 

[Saturday: 1:17 PM] 

CJ walked into Margaret's office, hoping to ask the secretary how their boss was doing. Instead, she was greeted by Lionel Tribbey, who was just closing the connecting door to Leo's office. 

"How is he?" she asked quietly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Margaret's taking him to get something to eat," Tribbey replied, equally as quiet. 

She nodded, and looked away for a second; he hadn't really answered her question, but she figured it would be the best she could get out of him. "They sent me down here, to find out... This is ridiculous, you know." 

"How's that?" he asked, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. 

"First the letter, and that whole thing with Korea," she began. "Not to mention... " Her voice trailed off as she thought about the rumors of Sam leaving to work for Seth Gillette. 

"Not to mention... ?" Tribbey prompted. 

CJ shook her head. "Nothing." Her forehead crinkled in thought, and the corners of her mouth twitched down. "Does the name Ezekiel Stone ring a bell with you, by any chance?" 

"No, why?" 

"No reason," she sighed, raking a hand through her hair. "No reason. Margaret's taking him to get some food?" 

He nodded. "I don't think he's eaten all day." 

"Lionel, what happened with that letter?" she asked suddenly. 

He shook his head, as if he hadn't heard her. "Pardon?" 

"The letter, the one about his father-" She stopped mid-sentence and resorted to making vague hand gestures. "What happened with it?" 

He sighed, and moved to the couch. "It doesn't seem to be a forgery," he stated wearily. "They compared the writing to samples from, uh, police reports, things like that. We asked that it be tested for age, but I dunno. Leo insists it's a forgery, but the evidence just isn't backing him up." 

She sat down beside him. "He can't still go to jail, can he?" 

Shaking his head, Tribbey replied, "Statute of limitations. It's been forty years. But I don't need to tell you just how bad this would look if the letter-" 

"I know," she interrupted, nodding. 

"I believe him, you know," the white-haired lawyer said, turning to look at CJ. 

It took her a moment, but she looked him in the eyes and said, "So do I. But it doesn't matter what we believe." She got up, and headed for the door. "I need to get back. We're still working on-" 

"Go," he said, waving her off. Cracking a tiny smile, he added, "You're starting to annoy me." 

"Crotchety old man," she gibbed before walking out. 

When she got back to her office, Danny was waiting for her. "CJ, can we talk for a bit?" 

"Well, you're already here, so why not?" she replied, closing the door. "What's up?" 

"A couple of things," the bearded reporter said. "If I find out that someone else has this story, I'll let you guys know about it." 

She frowned at him. "You already told us that, Danny-" 

"But if someone else has the story, I'm gonna run it." 

Staring at him for a moment in shock, she said, "What-" 

"CJ, I'm a friend of this administration, you know I am," he began quietly. "But this is a news story. I'm a reporter, I've got an obligation to-" 

"Fine," she interrupted, holding up her hand. "Whatever. What--what's the other thing?" 

"I did a little research on that guy who tried to sneak in earlier," he replied, handing her a file folder. "Ezekiel Stone, it turns out, was the name of a New York cop who died in the line of fire back in '83." 

She opened up the folder and sat down in her chair. "So this guy's going around pretending he's a dead cop who works for the Vice President?" 

"It gets better," Danny replied. "Look at his picture." 

CJ flipped to the printout of the man's photograph. "Holy Christ," she muttered. "That's the same guy." 

Danny nodded. "So not only is he pretending to be this dead cop, he's even trying to look like him." 

She tossed the folder to her desk and leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I just realized where I'd seen him before." 

It was Danny's turn to look a little confused. "Where?" 

"I told him where the OEOB was, yesterday," she replied. 

He regarded her pensively before saying, "He said he works for the Vice President, didn't he." 

She nodded. "Thank God the Secret Service got him," she muttered; however, something still bugged her about him. Though he had been scraggly looking on the street the day before, nothing about him had struck her as crazy or evil. And the confrontation he'd had with Danny... "What, exactly, did he tell you about Mallory?" 

"He wanted to talk to Leo," Danny replied. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down momentarily. "Listen, I've gotta go write a thing." 

"Write what?" she asked apprehensively. 

"About Korea," he replied assuringly. "You know, you guys really dropped the ball on that one." 

"Danny-" 

"I'm goin'," he said, holding his hands up in defeat. "No more talky." 

She leaned back in her chair as he closed the door behind him. Something just wasn't sitting well with her; the letter, then Mallory, and then some guy pretending to be a dead cop who now knows the Vice President. One thought led to another, and she figured this Stone character, or whoever he was, was saying he knew Hoynes because the real Stone *did* know Hoynes. 

Picking up the phone, she dialed the number for Hoynes' office. "Janeane, this is CJ Cregg. I need to speak with the Vice President; tell him it's urgent." 

[------------] 

"Sam, what do you think?" 

Sam's head snapped up at the sound of his name. He had not been paying attention to Josh and Toby's discussion for some time now, and was unprepared for the question. "Pardon?" he asked quietly. 

Josh and Toby exchanged quick looks. "You okay, buddy?" Josh asked, putting his hand on Sam's shoulder. 

"I'm fine," Sam answered too quickly, too brightly. "I'm sorry, just wasn't paying attention that much." 

Josh nodded, not believing him, and gave his shoulder a squeeze before letting go. "Didn't really matter anyway," he muttered. "Wanna talk about it, or somethin'?" 

"No," Sam replied sharply, "because we've got jobs to do. The country hasn't quite come to a screeching halt yet, you know?" 

"Sam," Toby started. "You didn't notice, ten minutes ago, when we started discussing possible intergalactic aliens in the Senate. You're completely out of it." 

"Toby, I'm fine," he said darkly, looking back and forth between Josh and Toby. 

"No, you're really not," Josh replied with that cocksure smile and laugh that said he was serious. "Trust me on this one, you wanna talk about it." 

"There's a speech I have to write," Sam said abruptly, leaving the room. 

Josh raked his hands through his hair. "Well, that was pointless." 

[------------] 

The Vice President stood up to greet his visitor. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked amicably, leading CJ to one of the leather seats. 

"I'm sure you've heard the news," she began. "About Mallory O'Brien." 

He took a deep breath, and nodded. "I just heard, yes. How's Leo doing?" 

"Margaret's taking care of him," CJ replied. "They're trying to find out where Jenny is, I think." 

"Connecticut," he replied almost automatically. At her questioning glance, he added, "That's where her family is from. It'd be a good place to start, at least." He knew he'd covered his slip-up smoothly enough that the White House Press Secretary wouldn't be able to see his mistake. 

"I'll tell them that," she said. "Listen, the reason I'm here-" 

"Besides my alluring looks and wonderful charm?" he quipped. 

"There was a man," she began, ignoring his last comment. "He tried to get into the White House, said his name was Ezekiel Stone. Said he worked for you." 

He took a deep breath, and asked, "What did he look like?" 

"Short hair, white guy, thirty or forty," she said. "In a suit, but I'd seen him earlier in street clothes, too." 

Hoynes chuckled and shook his head; it had been pretty dumb of Stone to think he could get into the fortress that was the White House simply by walking in. "Okay, Ms. Cregg. I'll be on the lookout for him." He sat back down, and she knew it was the end of her meeting. "Tell Leo how sorry I am." 

"I will," she nodded, getting up and leaving. "Thank you for your time, sir." 

[------------]  
  

The rope broke. Mallory couldn't hear anyone outside, so she sat up and fumbled with the ropes about her ankles until they were undone. Her bare feet touched the cold, rough wooden floor, and she shivered. Walking to the door, she listened nervously to hear if anyone was outside; nobody in the immediate area, but she could hear cars and people on the streets. 

Tiptoeing out to the hallway, she moved as quickly as possible on the off-chance that her captor was still there. Nobody was there, and she made a mad dash to the door. 

Then, she realized that she had no idea where she was. It looked like it could have been Maryland, or it could have been Virginia, or it could have been anywhere with trees, grass, and lone gravel roads. 

"Fuck," she muttered. Then, shaking her head, she got into the ditch by the main road, knowing that if she stayed on the road she could be spotted, and started walking, hoping that she was headed towards some form of civilization. 

[Saturday: 2 PM] 

"Sir, Mr. Stone is here to see you," said Janeane over the intercom. 

Hoynes put down the sheaf of papers he had been straightening out. "Send him in," he sighed tiredly. The door opened, and Stone walked in, headstrong and urgency in his step. 

"I already know what happened," Hoynes stated, holding up his hands to keep Stone from talking. "Your employer came and told me." 

Stone, who had previously had a look of exigency about him, blinked in surprise. "He did?" 

"Close the door," Hoynes instructed. Picking up the sheaf of papers again, he said, "Before you ask, I don't have any new information for you. I'm sorry." 

Stone nodded, looking around the office, surprised at the disarray. "I need your help." 

"I know," Hoynes stated, still cleaning. "You'll need a lot of help on this one, I think." 

Looking at him curiously, Stone briefly wondered what the piggy-backed message was supposed to be. "I mean, I need your help getting me to meet with Mr. McGarry." 

The Vice President chuckled, and shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not the one who can help you there. That's gotta do with security clearances, which I cannot give." 

Stone looked away, brows furrowed. He was at a complete standstill; though he knew what Michael McGarry looked like, he didn't have a clue how to track him down. There wasn't even any way that he could contact the involved parties, as the involved parties were protected by the most stringently trained armed guards in the world. 

"Zeke," Hoynes said, breaking the other man out of his reverie. "I have a floor vote I need to get to." Pulling on his jacket, he added, "I suggest you talk to your current employer about the job at hand." 

He shook his head, uncomprehending. "Why?" 

"There are a few things he's not telling you about this one," Hoynes stated as he walked out the door. 

Stone started after him, but there were Secret Service agents completely surrounding the Vice President; he knew this conversation was over, and he knew that he was more confused than before. Shaking his head, he walked outside, and sat down on a nearby bench, knowing that his "current employer" would no doubt soon pay him a visit to chide him for wasting his time. 

Sure enough, the Devil walked towards him out of a throng of tourists and DC employees. Standing up, Stone said, "I've been waiting for you." 

The Devil shrugged nonchalantly as he walked by. "You could've been doing your job, instead." 

"I *was* doing my job," Stone replied, falling into step behind him. "But I don't know where Michael is right now, so I'm just hanging around here." 

"You're hanging around the OEOB?" the Devil asked incredulously. "I mean, I already knew you were, but still. That's kinda weird." 

"What are you keeping from me?" he asked bluntly. "What do you know that I don't?" 

"The sheer tonnage of what I know that you don't could stun a team of oxen in its tracks," the Devil quoted glibly. 

"Well, spill," Stone stated. "Tell me what you know about this guy." 

The Devil stopped walking and stared at Stone. "What makes you think I'm keeping things from you?" 

"Hoynes told me." 

The world stopped around them, pedestrians and cars frozen in whatever strange position they had been in. Everything seemed to go mute except for the two of them, and Stone's breath seemed loud to him in the void. Even the light breeze that had been blowing had fallen to a halt, though it left ties and leaves thrown up in the air and hair blown back in its wake. 

"What did he tell you?" the Devil asked, and Stone thought he had never seen his employer this angry before. 

"That you're keeping something from me," Stone replied, standing his ground. "Is it important?" 

The Devil stared at him furiously before looking away. "Yes," he growled out, unable to make eye contact. 

"You said this guy's more powerful than Ashur," Stone fished, when it looked as if the Devil wasn't going to say any more. "Why? How could he be more powerful if he's not as old as her?" 

"He's older," the Devil snapped. "And this isn't the first time he's escaped." 

"How often do you have escapes?" Stone asked incredulously. 

Sitting on a nearby bench, the Devil shrugged, and the thought entered Stone's head that he'd never seen the Devil this weary and frustrated before. "Every couple hundred years, someone gets out. We usually get them back, but... " He sighed and leaned back. "You know the AA definition of insanity? Repetition, expecting different results, all that?" 

Stone sat down beside him, nodding. "I know it." 

The Devil glanced at him and stated, "I'd never informed your predecessors about how powerful this one is. It was a mistake, I think." Looking back out at the world, he took in the motionless, silent view. "Michael McGarry was born in Ireland, around 6000 BC; obviously, his name wasn't Michael McGarry then. He was first killed in retribution for some rather grisly crimes against his tribe mates." 

"He's a *lot* older than Ashur," Stone commented, thinking about how hard it had been to send Ashur back to Hell. The other soul, 4000 years old, had put up a fight; he almost shuddered at the thought of having to send *this* one back. 

"Yeah," the Devil concurred. "And, like I said, he's escaped before. 1557, apprehended 1559. Second time was 1940. Joined the US Army, and after the war he settled down in Boston." 

"Leo McGarry was born, what, '45? '46?" 

"Yeah. But he's not his son." At Stone's questioning glance, he added, "The mother was having an affair with the elder McGarry's police partner and drinking buddy. She never knew for sure who the father was, and she never told anyone. The daughters are the partner's, also." 

Stone shook his head, stunned. "No wonder there's no real resemblance." 

"There was, when he was younger," the Devil replied. "But it was sheer coincidence. They're not related in any way." 

Nodding, Stone asked, "So how'd you get him back?" 

Chuckling, the Devil said, "I didn't. It's not too often I admit failure, but... that was Leo's handiwork." 

"How so?" 

"When Leo shot him, the bullet hit one of his eyes," the Devil explained. "It weakened him enough that he looked dead to the rest of the world. I simply... coerced... the coroner to pierce his other eye, and he was back where he belonged." 

"Luck," Stone muttered in surprise. 

"Twenty-two years on the run, and a scared seventeen year old boy does what a trained, two-hundred year old assassin couldn't," the Devil added with a laugh. "I sure got a kick out of that one." 

Stone smirked, and glanced away for a moment. There was a question at the back of his mind, and he thought he might try and take advantage of the sharing attitude that the Devil seemed to have adopted in the past few minutes. Looking back at him, he asked, "What's between you and the Vice President?" 

If the Devil was thrown by the sudden change of subject, he didn't show it. Instead, he merely shrugged, and replied, "Nothing. We used to know each other." 

"How?" When the Devil didn't answer, he pressed on, "I mean, how does the Devil come to know a high-ranking politician?" 

Keeping the obvious sarcastic replies at bay, the Devil said, "He wasn't always a politician, you know." Getting up, he muttered, "But I'll be damned if he wasn't always middle-of-the-road." 

The world started moving again, and the Devil disappeared into the mid-afternoon crowd, leaving Stone to think alone on the parkbench. 

[------------] 

The church was smallish, wedged in the rich, residential part of DC, and Leo knew that he was far enough away from work that he wouldn't run into anyone he particularly knew. Margaret had finally left his side, at his insistence, and he had driven himself out to the church, without much thought or hesitation. She had insisted that she stay at his place, at least, but this was something he needed to do on his own. 

It had been years since he'd attended church to pray; the last time was, perhaps, the Sunday before his wedding. He considered himself religious, but not secular, and Sunday Mass had never held any real appeal for him. Neither had some of the Catholic doctrines that he'd learned as a boy, so he'd felt no desire or need to attend church. That being said, he'd forgotten many of the rites and rituals associated with the church. 

He hoped God would forgive him if he screwed up with this one act. 

He remembered enough to make the sign of the cross with the holy water, and to kneel at the tabernacle, and he knew prayers from his youth. He went to one of the first pews, and knelt, his shins almost painfully pressed up against the edge of the kneeler. Hands clasped and forearms resting on the back of the pew in front of him, he dropped his head until his brow was resting on his fingers; a moment later, he raised his head again, unable to come up with any words to say or think. He bowed his head again, determined, only to come back up once more, again unable to pray. 

Sliding back onto the pew, he swallowed heavily and glanced around. There were a couple parishioners doing what he'd been trying to do, and a few more lighting candles. He shook his head; whatever seemed to be working for them wasn't for him. He stood up, and headed back to the doors, no less worried than he'd been when he'd entered. 

He stopped short at the confessional. The priest was in, and both sides were empty. Absently rubbing the back of his neck, he took hesitant steps towards it, and opened the door to the nearest booth. It was cramped, and he could feel his palms clamming up, could feel the heat rising in his neck as he flipped the switch to let the priest know he was there. The screen grated open, revealing the wood mesh between them, and he licked his lips nervously, keeping his eyes on some point on the door in front of him. 

"I'd like to, uh, do a... I'd like to have a confession heard," he stammered out quietly, his voice sounding foreign to him. 

"Whenever you're ready," the priest replied. 

Nodding, Leo pulled the words from the depth of his mind and interlaced his fingers. "Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," he began. "It's been, um... I don't know how long it's been since my last confession." He ran a hand over his face, and asked, "Everything I tell you, it stays secret, right?" 

"Yes, just between us," the priest said. 

"I-" He stopped, his voice choked in his throat, suffocating him. Swallowing, he could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead, cold against his hot skin. The booth was cramped, and too dark for him; pushing back against the wall, he closed his eyes and tried to regain his breath. He knew the priest must be judging him; he knew the priest knew what he'd done. It was irrational to think so, but he knew the priest knew that he'd killed his own father. He could feel his eyes, through the mesh, judging him as he sat in that small, dark box, unable to breathe or see or talk. 

He opened his eyes, and the door was right in front of him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled as he pushed the door open, stumbling out into the church before making his way outside. The cold autumn air hit him hard as he scrambled down the aging, chipped old steps, and he jammed his key into his car door lock, almost breaking it in his haste. With shaking, pale hands, he took that same key and slammed into the ignition once, twice, three times before it hit its mark; within moments, he was pulled out of the residential drive, and on the main road. 

The church disappeared from his rear-view mirror, and he finally let out the breath he'd been holding. 

[------------] 

Michael McGarry looked at the frayed rope that lay on the bed. She'd found the nail that he'd banged through the frame, and used it to her advantage, just as he'd hoped she would. He'd never wanted to hurt her, and wondered if she'd figured out yet that he'd used make-up to give her fake bruises and cuts. 

He had no idea how much longer he'd be on this earth; he knew that the Devil's soul hunter was looking for him. He could feel it. But he knew that he didn't want his own granddaughter to stay, forgotten, in this two-room shack in the middle of nowhere, when he was recaptured and sent back to Hell. He was glad that she'd escaped, and knew that at some point, she'd be picked up by someone who'd take her back to where she belonged. 

In the meantime, though, he had more important things to attend to than taking pride in his granddaughter's survival skills. 

[Saturday: 2:30 PM] 

Tribbey paced down the hallways fervently, one hand grasping a manila folder like it was a lifeline, the other hand occasionally running through the shock of white hair on his head. A few twists and turns later, and he was at CJ's office. 

"CJ, where's Leo?" he asked, bursting into her office excitedly. 

She looked up, startled by his abrupt entrance. "Uh, at home," she replied. 

He held up the folder, and hissed gleefully, "Forgery!" 

"Wait, what?" she asked, standing up in shock. "And isn't it illegal for you to be telling me this?" 

"It's been dated, it's only a few weeks old," he stated, closing the door behind him. "It's a damn good forgery, but it's a forgery nonetheless!" 

CJ grabbed the folder and opened it to the letter incriminating Leo in his father's death. It *looked* real enough, but... "It's not real," she muttered in awe. 

"No, it's not," Tribbey replied. "Which means they have no case against him with this." 

In spite of the other situations at hand, CJ found herself laughing. "You calling him?" 

"Hell yeah, I'm calling him," Tribbey replied loudly. "Can I use your phone?" 

She sat back down and motioned for him to use it. Watching him dial, she smiled; it was a small victory, a small happiness, but it was one nonetheless. It wouldn't erase the fact that Leo's only daughter had been kidnapped, but it would certainly take at least one weight off his shoulders. 

Meanwhile, the phone was picked up on Leo's end. "Hello, Margaret?" Tribbey began on the phone. "Is he in?" 

Margaret blinked in surprise at Tribbey's tone and said, "No... I take it there's some good news?" 

"Yeah." 

"Mallory?" 

Tribbey's demeanor immediately faltered, and he quietly replied, "No. But I need to speak to him, it's still good news." 

"He's-" She paused as the door opened. "He just walked in, hang on." The phone clattered against the tabletop as she put it down to go get her boss, and the next voice that Tribbey heard was Leo's. 

"Hello?" Leo asked, sounding bone-weary and defeated. 

"It's me, Lionel," Tribbey said. "The letter's a forgery." 

Leo sat down on the couch by the phone and rubbed his eyes. "Huh?" 

"The letter that the prosecutors were waving around, the one supposedly written by your dad. It's only a few weeks old. They have nowhere to go with it." 

"That's... uh, that's great," Leo said, trying to force some jocularity into his voice. "I, uh... " 

"Leo, I know it's not the good news you were hoping for," Tribbey said quietly. "But it *is* good news." 

"I know," Leo replied. "Um, I called Jenny. She's coming down from Connecticut. Do you know if there's any news?" 

Sighing quietly, Tribbey leaned his elbows against the desk. He knew that Leo knew that if there was any news, Leo would know before he did. "No," he admitted instead of making some sort of remark. "No news at this end. Jenny's coming down?" 

"Yeah," Leo replied. "I, um. I called her." 

"You told me," Tribbey replied. "Leo, when's she gonna be here?" 

Leo turned to Margaret, who said, "About a half hour now. They're taking her straight to the Residence." Leo relayed that to Tribbey, who, unbeknownst to both Leo and Margaret, frowned. 

"The Residence? Why not let her go to-" 

"She sold the house," Leo explained. "She doesn't have a place down here anymore." 

Tribbey nodded and said, "You're coming over, then?" 

"I guess... You said no word?" 

Exchanging a worried glance with CJ, Tribbey replied, "Yeah, no word yet. Listen, tell Margaret to bring you over, okay?" 

"Okay." 

"I'll see you later, Leo," Tribbey said before hanging up. "Wow," he muttered. 

Arms crossed over her chest, CJ asked, "He's bad?" 

Looking up at her with a troubled expression, he huffed, "Bad? That's the understatement of the century." 

[Saturday: 2:50 PM] 

Leo got to the White House as quickly as he could, which wasn't as quickly as he'd wanted, as Margaret had forced him to get something to eat before leaving the apartment. When they got there, Leo made sure that they stopped at his office first. 

Josh was there, swamped in paperwork. He looked up at Leo's entrance, and muttered a surprised, "Hey," stopping his work and standing up. "What're you doing here?" 

"I just wanted to check up on things," Leo replied. 

Josh nodded, and said, "Don't worry, I got everything handled." Pausing, his forehead crinkled in thought, and he asked as an afterthought, "Did you ever talk to Sam, by the way?" 

Leo shook his head in confusion. "Sam?" 

"Nah, never mind," Josh muttered. "Listen, I'm okay down here. Jenny's coming, right?" 

"Yeah," he replied, glancing at Margaret. "She should be here soon." 

"She'll probably be up at the residence, right?" Josh asked, glancing behind Leo at Margaret. 

"We should probably head up there now," Margaret stated quietly, looking at Josh instead of Leo; the older man was not facing her, and did not notice. 

"Yeah," Leo agreed, turning. "I'll see ya, Josh." 

"See ya... Hey, Margaret, hang back a sec?" Josh asked as they began to walk out. 

Leo glanced between the two, suspicion coming out a bit on his face. "What's up?" 

"It's the appointment system," Josh replied with a defusing smirk. "Donna hasn't gotten the hang of it yet, and I just wanted to ask Margaret to explain it to her." 

"I'll meet you upstairs in a bit," she told her boss, and he nodded and left. She waited patiently as Josh closed the door, and sat down when he motioned her to. 

"How's he doin'?" he asked, leaning against the edge of the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. 

"How are people supposed to do when things like this happen?" she muttered, tiredly rubbing at her eyes. 

"Margaret," he began, feeling weary himself. 

"He's okay, I guess," she relented. She left out the fact that Leo had looked even more haunted when he'd returned from the church; there was no need to worry Josh any more than he already was. The deputy Chief of Staff was already stressed from the investigation, Korea, taking over for Leo, and Mallory having gone missing. No need to add to it, she thought. 

"I heard about some letter, about his dad," he fished, stretching his back absently. "Is there gonna be some sort of problem?" 

She shook her head and replied, "It was a forgery. Don't worry about it." 

"Ahkay," he sighed, rounding back to the chair. "You know, she really can't get the hang of your system." 

Margaret stood, chuckling. "I'll explain it later. I need to get upstairs before he misses me." 

"Bye," he said as she walked out the door. 

Leo was standing in the half-deserted hallway, glaring at her as she exited the office. She almost gasped at his stare, and visibly shrank away in surprise and fear. For the first time, she noticed the way his eyes were sunken into the dark, hollow pits under his brow, the way his visage looked even more slashed than normal, taut and ghostly. His eyes simmered with something not quite anger, not quite offense, and they scared her. 

"What were you talking about?" he asked, his voice quiet to an almost frenetic point. 

"We-" she began, but her reply was choked off by the intense stare he was giving her. She stood by as he brushed past her and entered his office. 

"You wanna know how I'm doing," he began, stalking up to Josh, "You ask *me*." 

Josh stared at his boss, dumbfounded. "Leo, I-" 

"You don't usher me out of my own office like some sort of child, Joshua," he growled, his voice convoluted with anger. "I've known you since you were barely old enough to walk, don't you *ever* forget that! Don't you ever handle me with kid gloves-" 

"Leo, I'm sorry," Josh interrupted, holding his hands up in defeat. "I just wanted to know-" 

"Then you ask me," he stated vehemently. "You don't treat me like I'm a child." 

Josh looked almost like a petulant child himself, cowering under Leo's gaze. "I'm sorry," he repeated, though it sounded more like a whisper than anything else. 

Leo's anger abated somewhat, and he saw the reasoning behind Josh and Margaret's excluding him from their discussion of him. "I'm going up to the residence," he stated quietly, turning and leaving the room. As an afterthought, he added, "I'll talk to Sam later." 

Margaret watched him walk off, then glanced apologetically at Josh. "I'm sorry, I have to-" 

"Go," he nodded, settling back down to work. 

Pausing, she asked, "Does Donna really not get the hang of it?" 

"It's a weird appointment system," he stated with a shrug. 

Rolling her eyes, she walked out after Leo. "Bye, Josh." 

They made it up the stairs to the Residence quietly, and the slight shade of humor that had painted over Margaret's spirits faded quickly at her boss' silence. She simply watched in concurring quiet as he walked into the main hallway of the Residence, and walked with their escort to one of the rooms. 

"Is Jenny here yet?" Leo asked the guard in clipped tones. 

"Yes, sir, she's waiting inside," the guard replied. 

He blinked in surprise; he had thought that she would have arrived after him, not before him. Suddenly, a cold fear started gnawing in the pit of his stomach. His ex-wife would blame him, he was sure, for the kidnapping of their daughter, and he wasn't sure he was able to face that just yet. "Did the press see her?" he asked, trying to prolong the inevitable. 

"No, sir, I'm fairly certain they didn't," the guard answered. 

He glanced at Margaret, and said, "If you don't mind... " 

"I'll go see if Josh needs any help," she stated, heading back downstairs. 

The guard opened the door as Margaret left, and Leo took a hesitant step inside. "Jen?" he asked quietly, seeing her stand up. 

There was an awkward space between them, and the sound of the door clicking shut made it even more so. They stood there for a moment, him shifting from one foot to another, her with her hands clasped in front of her. "It's been a while," she finally said, giving him a forced, pained smile. 

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding a bit too earnestly. "Yeah, it has." His gaze swept over her quickly, as they continued to stand away from each other. "You look good." 

"You don't," she replied. 

"I'm so sorry, Jenny." 

Unable to hide the irrational blame in her eyes, she looked away for a moment. "Was it because of who you are?" she asked. "Because of where you work?" 

He shook his head, and stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. "I don't know," he replied truthfully. He could feel her blaming him, in the Goosebumps on the back of his neck, and in the way the tips of his fingers went cold. He didn't blame her for blaming him, though. "They haven't found out anything, yet." 

There was a knock on the door, and he started as he turned to look. Jenny was a little more put together than him, and she called for whoever was on the other side to come in. 

The door swung open, and in walked Abbey. She looked at the two of them, and was immediately hit by the sheer feeling of awkwardness in the room. 

"I heard you were here already," the First Lady began, trying to lift the mood as she walked towards Jenny. Turning back to Leo, she said, "Why don't you come sit down?" 

He watched the two women as if he were some sort of outsider, and, quite abruptly, the thought wiggled its way to the front of his mind that Mallory looked a lot like Jenny. He blinked, and pushed the thought away. "I . . . " 

The two women exchanged nervous glances, before Jenny said, "Leo?" 

"I actually have to go talk to Sam," he stated quietly, nodding absently. "I should probably go do that." 

"Leo-" Abbey began, but he shook his head. 

"I really have to do this, Abbey," he said. "It's--I have to go talk to him." Giving Jenny one more awkwardly apologetic glance, he turned and left. 

[------------] 

"I told him, earlier." 

"About damn time." Capping his pen, Hoynes laid it on his desk and leaned back, rolling his shoulders back. "You tell him everything?" 

"About McGarry? Yeah," the Devil replied. "You know, I think you're far too attached to these people."  
  

"They're not that bad, once you get to know them," the Vice President shrugged. "Kinda like you, I guess." 

"Come back with me," he said abruptly. 

"You've tried that tactic, and it doesn't work," Hoynes stated, standing up and heading to his filing cabinet. "Besides, I've got work to do." 

"Work?" the Devil scoffed. "Meeting with senators and congressmen in response to Bartlet's 'lies'. Trust me, if you come back to Hell with me, you'll meet them all in a few years." 

"Much as I believe that, I gotta meet with them *now*," Hoynes chuckled, putting one file away and pulling another one out. "They've finally decided to bring me in front of the jury." 

"As if it matters," the Devil replied, casually walking to intercept Hoynes on the way to his desk. "You know in the long run, it doesn't." 

"Yeah, well," he huffed, waiting for the Devil to get out of his way. "Right now it does." When he saw that the Devil wasn't moving, he asked, "Could you please get out of the way?" 

"You could just walk around me, you know." 

"Yeah," Hoynes muttered, knowing that the Devil wouldn't move. He stepped around him, and sat back down. "Now, I'm gonna have to ask you to leave-" 

The Devil leaned down, one hand on Hoynes' desk, the other on the back of his chair. "I'm looking forward to you joining me, finally," he growled, his throat exuding no air at all, but Hoynes could have sworn he felt hot breath against his ear and cheek. It was an old, but familiar sensation, and he felt a droplet of sweat make a sudden, cold path down the middle of his back. A thousand years ago, that sensation would leave him shaking, in need; now, it left him troubled as those old feelings came up again. 

Turning, Hoynes saw nothing but his empty office. 

[------------] 

If Leo noticed the odd glances he was getting from the staffers he passed in the halls of the west wing, he chose to ignore them; the smartly-dressed, younger workers threw looks his way that varied from concerned by the harsh glint of his eyes to baffled by the sight of him wearing anything other than a suit. They all kept their distance, stepping to the side as he came down the hallway, and most of them reserved their more openly surprised looks until after he'd passed by them. 

He got to the Communications bullpen, and entered Sam's office without much fanfare. When he saw that nobody was there, he went to Ginger and asked, "Where is he?" 

"I don't know," she replied, taken aback by the tension in his voice. "He just up and left a little while ago." By the time she'd finished saying her last words, he was already going down the hall again. 

Sam was working on something with Ed and Larry in the Mural Room, and when Leo walked in, all three of them startled. "Guys, I need to talk to Sam alone," he stated quietly; the two speechwriters left, and the room stayed eerily quiet after the door closed behind them. 

Leo took a deep breath, and could feel his spine cracking. "How you doin'?" he asked, his voice conversational and light. 

"Fine," Sam replied tightly, quickly. "What's up?" 

He took a seat, and motioned for Sam to take a seat, also. "You had a meeting with Seth Gillette yesterday," he stated. 

"Yeah." 

"What happened?" 

"He offered me a job," Sam answered bluntly. "I didn't take it, if that's what you're getting at." 

"That's what I was getting at," Leo nodded. He began to get up, and added, "Thanks, Sam." 

"Why did you think I would take it?" 

Leo paused, looked at him, then sat back down. "I'm sorry?" 

"Why did you think I would take the job offer?" Sam asked. "Why would you think that I'd bail?" 

"I didn't," Leo replied. 

"Bull, Leo. If it were Josh, you wouldn't have even asked." 

"Sam, you seemed pretty angry for a pretty long time," Leo stated quickly, trying to avert a blow-up. "You leaving the administration was not that inconceivable, you know." 

"I wasn't angry at anyone, Leo," Sam retorted tautly, slamming his hand against the table and standing up. His voice was deathly quiet, and his eyes burned ice-hot. "I wasn't angry at Toby or the President, or you, or Josh, or CJ. I'm *not* angry at any of you." 

"But, you *were* angry," Leo stated. "Sam-" 

"I was angry because of *it*," he interrupted, waving towards the Oval Office. "I'm angry because of what it's doing to him. He's in there, talking to generals, and senators, and foreign heads of state--and his brain is rotting. It's *rotting*, Leo, it's being torn apart by his own body." 

It was as if a door had opened up, and a brood of hell-hounds had been let loose onto the world. "You think," Leo started, his voice as quiet as Sam's had been moments earlier, "you think that Josh doesn't realize it? You think CJ doesn't, or Toby?" He stood up calculatingly and leaned forward, his hands braced on the desk. "You think that I, a man who has known him for upwards of forty years, you think that I don't know what's happening to him? Sam, I have known that man since before you were born. I am the godfather to his children, he is the godfather to mine. I have seen him grieve, I have seen him angry, I have seen him in his best moments and his worst, and he has seen me through the same. He is my President, he is my boss, but above that, he is my best friend." 

Throughout the discourse, Sam's expression had faded from anger to, almost, contrition. "Leo-" 

"Look me in the eyes, and tell me that I don't realize what's happening to him." When Sam said nothing, he went on, a little gentler than before. "This is the White House, Sam. It doesn't stop for anyone or anything, nor should it, because somewhere out there is some guy with a bomb who's just waiting for us to look away. Is it cold-hearted? Yeah, a little. But that's the way it's gotta be. You fall down. You pick yourself up. You move on. It's the way it works, Sam, the way it always has." 

"It just seems like we never have time to take these things in before we have to spin them," Sam stated half sadly and bitterly, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away. 

"I know." He rounded the desk, and stood in front of the younger man. "Sam, I want you to listen to me. Right now, he's fine. He's in there, talking to generals, and senators, and foreign heads of state, and he's fine. He's not gonna collapse-" 

"But we don't know that," Sam interrupted anxiously. 

"He's not gonna collapse," Leo repeated, more assuringly. "And nothing else is gonna happen to him, either." He absently rubbed the back of his neck, sighing deeply. "Anyway. I'll see you later, Sam." 

"You didn't have to ask." 

Glancing away contritely, Leo nodded. "I know." 

Sam absently picked up one of the papers he had been reading earlier. "No news yet?" 

"Nah," Leo replied. "Jenny's here, but I--you know." 

"Yeah." He glanced up at his boss, his blue eyes flashing nervously over the older man; he looked weary. "What're you planning on doing now?" 

He shrugged. "Gonna go see if Josh needs a hand with anything." 

"You're going to work?" Sam balked. "Have you looked in a mirror lately, Leo?" 

"I'm fine," he stated dismissively. 

"How long've you had that cold?" 

"Like a day." 

"How long?" 

"Since yesterday, Sam." 

"How long?" 

"Maybe about four days or so." 

"No wonder you look like crap." And a missing daughter couldn't help matters much, Sam added to himself. But he kept that thought secret, as he was seeing the beginning of a smirk on Leo's face; besides, he wanted to think of that situation as little as possible. He had a vivid imagination, and the lack of information was greasing the wheels of his mind more than what was comfortable. 

Mentally shaking his head, Sam asked, "What're you taking for it?" When Leo looked away half-guiltily, he chuckled and began to lead him out of the room. "I've got some vitamin C and some echinacea on my desk. I'll hook you up, and take you home." 

Leo stopped and glared at him in wary confusion. "You'll *what*?" 

"I'll hook you up and take you home," Sam repeated, a little wary himself. 

"You'll 'hook me up'?" 

"I'll hook you up." 

"How about you never say that phrase in my presence, ever again?" Leo quipped. 

"Okeydokey." 

"And never say that, either." 

"Okeydo-" 

"Sam-" 

"Right." 

[Saturday: 3:30 PM] 

"Hey, CJ." 

"Afternoon, Dandelion." 

Danny frowned and asked, "That's my new name?" 

Behind her desk, CJ shrugged. "It's out of my system now. Why is my staff still letting you in here?" 

"They still like me," he replied. "And you, my friend, are going to have an extreme emotional reaction to what I've got here." He held up a video tape case for her to see, coming inside her office and closing the door. 

She smirked a little, and repeated, "An extreme emotional reaction?" 

"You'll either love me or hate me. Possibly both." 

CJ motioned for him to sit down. "What is it?" 

"Remember our friend, Mr. Stone?" 

"Yeah." 

He pulled a photo out of his pocket. "I was looking through some photos with a friend of mine for a piece on the Vice President, and we came across this one," he said, tossing it on her desk. As she looked at it, he added, "This was taken yesterday, and that," here he pointed at a particular face in the background, "is our doppelganger." 

"He's stalking Hoynes," she mused. "He's made himself up to look like this dead cop, and now he's stalking Hoynes?" 

"See, that's what I thought at first, too," Danny stated. "I went down to the OEOB, to see if he'd been lurking around, and I got this security tape." He got up and put it in her VCR, and set it to play. "That's our guy." 

"And that's the door to the Vice President's office," she muttered. "How'd he get in that close?" 

"That's not what matters. Look at the time index." He waited for her to see it, then fast-forwarded the tape until Stone was leaving the office. "He's in there for quite a while. Longer than it takes for Secret Service to throw someone out." 

He's working for Hoynes, CJ thought. He said he knew something about Mallory, which means so does Hoynes. "Danny, who gave this to you?" she asked, her eyes still glued to the television screen. 

"I'm not the kind of boy who kisses and tells." He stopped the tape and put it back into its case. "CJ, I'm telling you about this because you guys are going through a lot of unnecessary crap right now and I want to be the nicest guy possible, but I'm gonna run with this." 

"Would it be possible for you to sit on it until I can talk to the Vice President?" she asked cautiously. 

He hesitated; there were so many things going wrong for this administration, but there was a story in this Stone character that he just couldn't pass up. He didn't know quite what the story was--obviously, it was connected to Mallory, but to what extent, he wasn't sure. But there was that strong scent of a story that he couldn't ignore. 

"Talk to him before the next briefing, CJ," he finally replied. Before she could say anything else to him, he took the photograph and the tape and left her office, heading back to his own. 

Ten minutes after he'd sat down at his desk, he felt a shadow on him. Turning, he saw CJ standing right behind him. "'Sup?" 

"The Vice President wants to talk to both of us, now," she stated quietly, turning to leave. "No notebooks, no recorders, just you, me, him, and that guy from the tape." 

[------------] 

Sam heard the door click locked behind him as he walked down the hall to the elevator. He couldn't get it out of his mind how big Leo's apartment was, and he idly wondered what the going rates were; then, he figured it'd be rather awkward to live in the same building as your boss, and he went back to just thinking about how big the apartment was. 

The elevator opened with a soft ding, and the man who exited was wearing clothes that just about screamed off-duty cop. He walked past Sam, and smiled politely. Sam turned to smile back, saw that the guy was stopped in front of Leo's door; Sam paused, and then turned to face the man. 

"He's not available," Sam stated quietly. 

The man glanced at Sam and replied, "It's okay, he knows I'm coming." 

There was something familiar about this man, but Sam couldn't place it. The accent threw him a bit, but he brushed it aside and paid attention to the face. "I'm sorry, do I know you?" 

"I'm his brother-in-law," the man replied; he was trying to be polite, but he was obviously growing tired of Sam's questions. 

Sam shook his head and laughed nervously. "I know his brothers-in-law, and you're not one of them." 

"I really don't want to take any more of your time," the man said. "Why don't you just run along?" 

The suspicion that had been gnawing at the pit of Sam's stomach ever since he'd seen the man step off the elevator built up even more. "Listen," he began warningly. "Leo's not available for visitors. So why don't *you* just run along?" 

The man sighed, annoyed, and stated, "You really don't want to get involved with this, sir." 

"I already am," Sam replied, defiantly stepping towards him. "Get out of here before I call the cops." 

"I *am* the cops," he snapped. 

"I thought you were his brother-in-law," Sam retorted smoothly. "Get out of here." 

The slightly older man glared at Sam before brushing past him and going back to the elevator. Satisfied, but not wanting to ride in the same car as the man, Sam waited until the door closed, and headed the opposite direction to the Spartan, quiet staircase; it led to a service door that was closer than the lobby to his car, anyway. 

When he reached the bottom of the seven flights, he started at the sight of the other man, stepping into the closed-off, empty stairwell. Obviously, the man hadn't been expecting Sam to be there, either, as he stopped and stared. 

"Thought I'd take the elevator?" Sam quipped awkwardly. 

"Stay out of this," the man stated, stepping towards the stairs. 

Grabbing the man by the shoulders and pulling him off the stairs, Sam replied, "I don't think I will." 

The man grabbed both of Sam's hands and shoved him away. Sam grabbed him again, one hand on his shoulder as his other fist connected with the man's jaw. 

Stumbling back more from surprise than pain, the man braced against the wall before leaping at Sam. They fell through the service door into an alleyway, grappling in a mass of arms and legs. Sam wrestled his way on top, punching the man in the face; when he saw no indication of pain, he paused, startled. 

The man used that moment to kick Sam off him, the steel toe of his boot slamming into Sam's stomach. Dragging the younger man up by his coat collar, he threw Sam into the opposite brick wall before stalking towards him. 

Dazed from the attack, Sam struggled to his feet; he was a strong man, and well-versed in many forms of defense, but his head had hit the wall straight on, and he was seeing stars. Before he could react, the other man had his hands around Sam's throat, lifting him off the dirty ground and pinning him against the cold brick wall. 

Michael McGarry watched with growing rage as the younger man's face grew red, feeling but not reacting to the slim fingers clawing at his gnarled ones or the expensive Italian leather shoes kicking against his jean-clad shins. Just as Sam's blue eyes rolled back into his head, Michael heard a passerby yell at him to stop. Dropping the now-unconscious speechwriter, he glanced at the passerby before taking off down the alley. 

[------------] 

"How long's it been?" 

"A minute since you last asked." 

"How long's it been?" 

Sighing, CJ glanced down at her watch. "We've been here five minutes, Danny." 

"Just checking." 

"He's the Vice President. He's got meetings." 

"With dead cops?" he quipped dryly. 

They were waiting in Hoynes' office, sitting uncomfortably and impatiently in a pair of high-backed leather chairs. "They'll be here soon." 

As if on cue, the door opened behind them; they both stood and turned to see who was coming in. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting," Hoynes apologized as he and Stone came into the room. "We were trying to figure out what to tell you." 

"How about everything?" CJ asked caustically. 

Hoynes eyed the two of them as Stone took up a seat on the couch. "Sit down, both of you." They sat, and he moved to sit behind his desk. "Daniel, this is all off the record." 

"Just for now, right?" 

"Trust me, you won't want it later," the Vice President stated with a smirk. Leaning back, he nodded at Stone. "Why don't you introduce yourself?" 

"We've already met," Stone stated as he shared looks with CJ and Danny. "In the White House foyer." 

"That was pretty stupid of him to try that, I admit," Hoynes chuckled. "Especially for a cop." 

CJ was already tired of it. "What do you two know about Mallory?" 

"I was just getting to that, Ms. Cregg," Stone replied from behind them. Getting up and moving to stand beside Hoynes' desk, he said, "I'm looking for the man who kidnapped her." 

"So's the Secret Service," Danny stated. "Why don't you go tell them whatever you know?" 

"They won't believe me," Stone answered. "I'm looking for Leo McGarry's father." 

CJ and Danny shared puzzled glances. "His father's dead," CJ told Stone. Looking at the Vice President, she added, "You know that, sir." 

"CJ, Ezekiel Stone is dead, and yet he stands right here," Hoynes replied. 

"What if we wanted to do a DNA test?" Danny asked defiantly. 

"I don't have DNA," Stone answered. "And neither does Michael McGarry. Or, at least, this form of him." 

Again, CJ and Danny glanced at each other, confused and a little nervous. "Mr. Vice President, what on earth is this? What are you trying to pull?" CJ asked, incredulous. 

"Nothing," he replied. "Danny, you used to box, right?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Why don't you try punching Mr. Stone here in the face?" 

Hesitant, he stood up and walked over to the cop. "Uh, okay... " 

"Don't hold back," Stone said with a smirk. 

Glancing unsurely at both the Vice President and CJ, Danny executed a perfect roundhouse punch to Stone's jaw. His head moved with the punch, but there were neither signs of pain nor blood. Blinking in surprise, he punched him again, this time square on the nose. Again, no sign of injury. 

"Any other man would be on the ground and bleeding," Hoynes said knowingly. 

"Can I try again?" Danny asked in amazement. 

"No," Stone answered quickly. Just because he didn't bleed didn't mean he liked being punched in the face, after all. 

CJ was still puzzled. "So, wait. He's dead?" 

"I'm dead," Stone replied, nodding. "And so's Mr. McGarry's father." 

"But you're here," she stated, getting up and pulling the still-amazed Danny back to his seat. 

"Yes." 

"You'll excuse me if I think you're both insane," she muttered. 

"CJ, those punches should've downed him," Danny said. "Any other guy, he'd be unconscious. I think this guy's for real." 

"I'm surrounded by madmen," she said incredulously. "All three of you, crazy! People don't just come back from the dead, and start stalking their grandkids!" 

"He's not stalking his grandkid," Stone interrupted. "I'm willing to bet she's doing just fine right about now." 

Still trying to wrap her mind around the idea of the undead stalking people, she asked, "Who's he going after, then? Leo?" 

"You heard how he died, right?" Stone asked by way of reply. As he watched her doubt slowly inch away, he added, "Your boss sent him back to Hell. He wants revenge." 

"Wait a minute, sent him *back*?" Danny asked. "He was dead *before*?" 

"Yup." 

"Still want to write a piece on this, Danny?" Hoynes asked. 

"Are you kidding me?" he balked. "They'd lock me up in a mental hospital if I even tried!" 

"Smart man," Stone nodded. "You two realize, this is a need-to-know thing, right? You're not gonna tell anyone this." 

"Like they'd believe it," CJ quipped, not quite believing it herself. "Just... one question." 

"What?" 

"If what's-his-face came from Hell, does that mean... " 

Stone nodded. 

Danny was still looking at him in wonder. "What's it like?" he asked quietly. 

Stone thought about it for a moment before answering, "Would you like the tour?" 

"No thanks," Danny replied quickly. 

"Because, I could probably arrange-" 

"No," Danny interrupted, swallowing hard. "It's really okay." 

Their diatribe was interrupted by the insistent beeping of CJ's pager. Pulling it out, she glanced at the message; the color drained from her face, and she glanced up at Hoynes before looking back down at the pager in her hand. 

"CJ, what is it?" Hoynes asked, immediately concerned. 

"I'm sorry," she muttered distractedly. "I need to--could I, is there a phone I can use?" 

"You can use mine," he replied, getting up. 

"I, I need a little privacy," she said, giving a sidelong glance at Danny. 

Drawing himself up, Danny turned to Stone. "Why don't you tell me a little about Hell, outside?" he asked, leading the other man out the door. 

Hoynes looked at CJ as she dialed. "Do you need me to leave?" 

"No, sir, thank you," she answered as the connection went through. "Toby?" she said into the phone. "What happened?" 

Silently, the Vice President watched as CJ got whatever news it was she was getting. "CJ?" he prompted as she hung up. 

"Sam's in the hospital," she said distantly. "He was attacked, and-" Gathering herself up, she started towards the door. "I have to go." 

Walking after her, he asked, "CJ, where was he attacked?" 

She stopped right before opening the door, and turned to face him. Realization filled her eyes as she quietly answered, "Outside Leo's apartment building." 

[Saturday: 4 PM] 

The door shut with a click, and the apartment was eerily quiet. The only sounds were that of the wall clock and the heater, ticking and creaking; then, there was the soft sound of cloth shifting as Leo sat down. 

He had lied to the detectives who had come up with the suspect description; true, he had told them that Sam had been up with him moments before, but he had told them that the description was unfamiliar to him. They could tell he was lying, he thought, but there was nothing more he could do. It was his father, but that was not possible, because his father was dead, and if he told the police that the man in the sketch looked exactly like his father, he wasn't sure what they would do to him. 

Certainly, it would not help Sam in any way. 

Now, he sat on the couch, and he thought, in the quiet, artificially-lit room, that if he were crazy, he might believe his father was haunting him. From the suddenly appearing nightmares, to the memo Friday morning, to the forged letter, to Mallory, and now Sam- 

If he were crazy, he might think it was his father. But his father was dead, cold in his grave for forty years. There was no way it could be his father. 

There was a knock on the door, and he flinched. It was most likely the detectives, coming back to question him again; they must know that he lied before. If not the detectives, then it might be the assailant. It had been too long since he'd had to defend himself in a fight, and he didn't want to test fate. 

There was a second knock, and Leo got up. It couldn't be the assailant, because the area was crawling with cops. He wouldn't come back to the scene of the crime, at least not this soon. Checking the peephole first, he unlocked the door and opened it. 

The same young-faced driver from earlier was standing in the hallway, fidgeting uncomfortably. "Sir, the President-" 

"Yeah," he nodded. "Could I-" He hesitated, and glanced away. "I mean, I don't really want to go." 

The driver looked a little baffled as he said, "Sir, I was sent directly by the President to get you." 

"I know," Leo replied, holding his hands up placatingly. "But I really don't want to go." 

Nodding hesitantly, the driver turned and left. Leo closed the door slowly, carefully turning the locks before walking deliberately to his phone. Taking the receiver off the cradle, he hesitated a second before putting it back down. It was only four in the afternoon. There was no way anyone from his meeting would be available at this early hour; they were senators, judges, and, of course, one Vice President. They had schedules to keep, and some of them were probably not even in the area. 

The phone rang, and he jumped; his heart going a mile a minute, he grabbed the receiver with clumsy hands. "Hello?" 

"Leo, it's John," the Vice President stated. "I've sent a guy over to pick you up, they should be there in a couple minutes." 

Shaking his head, even though he knew Hoynes couldn't see, Leo replied, "The President just tried that-" 

"Yeah, but he took no for an answer," Hoynes interrupted. "I'm not gonna. I've sent a guy." 

Hesitantly, Leo said, "Okay." He hung up, and a few minutes later, another driver was at his door; he left to see Hoynes, without complaint. 

[------------] 

The hospital wasn't like the last time she had visited; last time, there were armed guards walking the halls, Secret Service agents on the lookout for anyone and anything suspicious, and there weren't many other patients. This time, the hospital looked normal, with staff and patients alike paying her no mind as she walked down the hall to the private room. 

She knocked on the door before entering, and smiled a little at the sight of Josh and Sam, both sleeping with their heads on the same pillow. "Times like these, I wish I had my camera," she stated, closing the door behind her. 

"Nuh," Josh mumbled, lifting his head up and jerking awake in his seat. "Huh? CJ?" 

Sam had woken up also, though a little more slowly than Josh had, and he groggily turned in his half-upright bed to look at his new visitor. "CJ," he mouthed, her name coming out as more of a rasp than anything. 

"Shut up, Sam," Josh mumbled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "What time's it, CJ?" 

"Little after four, Sleeping Ugly," she answered, taking up the seat on the opposite side of Sam's bed. "Why shut up?" 

"Doctors told him he shouldn't talk for a day," Josh replied, motioning to his throat. "Too banged up." 

Smirking at the speechwriter, CJ said, "Thank God for small favors, eh, Spanky?" It earned her a cross glare before she got a welcoming smile. 

"I'm gonna go get something to drink," Josh said, standing up and stretching. "I'll see you guys in a few." 

"You gonna comb your hair a little first?" CJ asked, pointing to the half-flattened, half-poofy curls on his head. 

He raked his fingers through his hair, and asked, "Better?" 

She shrugged defeatedly and replied, "Whatever." Josh left, and she turned her attention to Sam. 

"How're you feeling?" she asked, more seriously than her entrance had been. 

Sam grabbed a pen and legal pad off the phone table and scribbled, "Pretty good. Got a concussion." 

"Yeah, I heard about that," she said. "At least you didn't get your pretty face messed up." She chuckled when he gave her another cross look. 

"Don't you feel sorry for me?" he wrote, a look of mock sadness on his face. 

"I always feel sorry for you," she answered, squeezing his hand. "So, it's just a concussion?" 

He nodded, and wrote, "And a bruised throat thing." 

"A throat thing? You don't know what, exactly?" 

"I'm a writer, not a doctor," he said to her, though his voice sounded more like a hiss than a voice. Swallowing hard, he wrote, "Where's Leo?" 

"I think the President sent a guy for him," she replied. 

"He still angry at me?" 

She read his words, then re-read them slowly. "Why would he've been angry at you?" 

"Seth Gillette," he scribbled quickly. 

CJ kept staring at his long, lilting cursive as she shook her head. "He was never angry at you, Sam. He didn't like the idea of Gillette approaching you, but he wasn't mad at you." 

"He thought I would take the offer," he stated quietly. 

"How long did it take him to ask you about it?" 

"A day," he rasped. 

"If Leo had thought you'd take it, he wouldn't have waited an hour to ask," she assured Sam. 

He shrugged in grudging agreement, and sighed, as if to change the subject. "Any word on Mallory?" he wrote on the pad; CJ wondered if he knew that these words seemed messier and more scrawled than his previous writings. 

"None yet," she replied, shaking her head. 

"Nothing?" he asked, his rough voice sounding rougher with frustration. 

"It takes a while to do ink analysis, and there weren't any prints on the photos." As if dead men leave prints, she added to herself. "They don't even know where to begin." 

"The tip was from a police sergeant," he scribbled angrily. "They don't know anything?" 

"They don't," she answered, growing tired of having to give him bad news. Behind her, there was a knock on the door; she knew Josh wouldn't have knocked, but she was glad for whoever it was, since she'd be able to take a break from the bad news. 

Looking to Sam for his consent first, she turned and said, "Come in." 

"CJ," the suit-wearing, yet scruffy looking man greeted her. "Hi," he added, looking at Sam. 

"Howdy," CJ said. "Sam, this is Mr. Stone. He's helping out with Mallory." 

Taking Stone's hand, Sam shook it vigorously and nodded his greeting. "Nice to meet you," he said. 

"You too," Stone returned. Turning to CJ, he said, "Can I talk to you, somewhere? I got a thing." 

"Sure," CJ replied chirpily. Ruffling Sam's hair affectionately, she said to him, "Get some rest, Spanky. Josh should be back in a minute." 

She and Stone walked outside and down the hall some, sitting down on an ugly, plush bench. "What's up?" 

"I was at the crime scene, and I found this," Stone answered, pulling something out of his pocket. It was a set of keys, with a dog tag attached to a cheap key ring; the tag had some military code jargon stamped on it, and had a rubber silencer stretched around its edges. "It's for a military storage building of some sort, I figured that much from the tag." 

"But you don't know what base it's from?" she fished. 

"Can't tell from the numbers," he replied, jangling the keys in front of her. "I know it's Army, but nothing more than that." 

A plan started forming in the back of her mind, and she grabbed the keys and walked to a nearby pay phone. After rifling through her purse for change, she asked, "You got thirty-five cents?" 

He pulled out his wallet and checked. "I have thirty-six bucks and . . . a quarter and two pennies." 

"Hope Danny takes collect," she muttered, dialing the reporter's cell phone number. 

A little while later, he picked up, and said, "Left your cell at work again?" 

"Bite me," she replied. "Listen, you still got that police scanner in your apartment?" 

"Yeah. I've got it on right now." 

"You by any chance checking to see if our friend has been sighted anywhere?" she asked quietly. 

"Actually, I just heard about someone seeing him down by Richmond Highway," Danny replied. 

Cupping the mouthpiece away from her face, she glanced at Stone. "You said Army?" 

"Yeah." 

"Danny," she said, talking into the phone again. "Belvoir's near Richmond Highway, right?" 

"Yeah," the reporter answered. "CJ?" 

"Yeah?" 

"If you're going there, I'm coming." 

Her voice dropped even further, and she said, "You know you can't report on this-" 

"I know," he interrupted. "I just... " For some reason, he didn't want to tell her that he was worried, so he just said, "Rack it up to me being curious, okay?" 

Hesitantly, she nodded. "Okay," she told him. "But if I hear that anything leaks out, I'll have your press credentials revoked." 

"Fair," he replied. "Meet me at my place, we'll take the SUV." 

"Okay." She hung up and motioned for Stone to start following her as she walked to the garage. "You ever been to Fort Belvoir?" 

"No," he answered, almost struggling to keep up. 

"It sucks." 

[------------] 

The Vice President nodded to his secretary, effectively dismissing her with, "Have the driver call me after he drops Leo off." Walking into his office, he wasn't surprised in the least to find the Devil sitting in his chair. 

"It really is a comfortable chair," the Devil quipped. "I can see why you want to stay here, now." 

"Really?" Hoynes asked distractedly as he looked through some memos. 

"Nah," the Devil answered, swinging his legs off the desk and standing up. "Actually, I've got a question for you." 

"I know you've got a lot of time to waste, being the Prince of Darkness and all, but here in the mortal realm we actually have work to do," Hoynes stated, brushing past him. 

"This'll only take a minute," the Devil dismissed. "Promise." 

"What is it?" Hoynes asked, sitting down and giving some of his attention to the Devil. 

"Why'd you talk to those two?" 

"I talk to a lot of people during my day, you'll have to be a little more specific," Hoynes chuckled. 

"The reporter and the press secretary," he elaborated. "You didn't need to tell them anything." 

"Well, I figured Stone needed *some* help, and since you're not providing any... " He shrugged, and pulled a folder out of the stack on his desk. "That's why." 

The Devil eyed him scornfully. "You always were the meddlesome one, weren't you?" 

"Not always," Hoynes corrected. "Besides, Stone's gonna need all the help he can get with this one." 

"He won't be able to do it," the Devil stated. 

At this, Hoynes looked up sharply; for the first time since the start of the conversation, he actually turned his full attention to his visitor. "You're sure about that?" 

He shrugged, and said, "It's always been a mortal who's done him in. For some reason, people who work for me just don't have the ability." 

Hoynes sat back, his forehead wrinkled in thought. "If Stone doesn't kill him, but someone else does, what happens?" 

"Stone goes free," the Devil replied. "But, problem is, nobody knows outside of Stone that the only way to send souls back is to shoot them in the eyes." 

Nodding, Hoynes asked, "What happens if Michael shoots him?" 

"Stone goes back, having failed the mission." 

Hoynes regarded him with an almost detached thoughtfulness. "You want him to fail, don't you?" 

Smiling expansively, the Devil answered, "Of course." 

"Why?" 

"It's fun." 

"Seriously, why?" 

"Seriously," the Devil mocked, "it's fun." 

His eyes focused on some distant spot, Hoynes stated, "If Stone gets sent back, then Michael McGarry stays, because nobody knows, except me, how to send him back." 

"Yeah," the Devil concurred, settling onto the couch. 

"And he'd most likely, what? Kill Leo?" 

"Nah," he replied, shaking his head. "Torture and maim, most likely. Play with his head some more." 

"Which would throw the Bartlet administration into turmoil," Hoynes theorized. "Because without Leo, President Bartlet really wouldn't want to go on." 

"How do you figure?" 

"Leo's the one who asked him to run in the first place," Hoynes explained. "If Leo were gone, Bartlet would either ride out the term and not run again, or flat-out resign." 

"Sounds like fun," the Devil said, meaning it full well. 

"Not really," Hoynes balked. Shaking his head he leaned forward and asked, "What would it take to get you to help Stone out a little?" 

Chuckling, the Devil asked in reply, "Why do you care? Bartlet doesn't matter, in the long run." 

"Humor me," Hoynes said, holding his hands palm-open to the Devil. "Stone would need, what? A, a human to do it?" 

"Yeah," the Devil said, confused but amused. 

"And Leo's done it already, once before?" The Devil nodded, and Hoynes asked, "Can you get him to do it again? I mean, can you help him?" 

Again, the Devil chuckled, more out of surprise at the absurd line of questioning that Hoynes was putting forth. "Of course I can, but what would I get out of the deal?" 

"Me." It hadn't taken long for the answer to come out; however, it did come out as almost a stutter, broken in the middle and hesitant by the end. 

The smile on the Devil's face faltered almost imperceptibly, and he asked, "Pardon?" 

"You'll get me," Hoynes repeated, drawing himself up and sounding a little more sure of himself. 

"You'd be willing to throw it all away, for... " The smile dropped completely, and he finished, "Not Bartlet. Why?" 

"It's on the table. Take it or leave it," Hoynes warned. 

No longer amused, but still confused, the Devil nodded. "I'll take it," he replied before he left. 

Hoynes waited a few seconds after the Devil left, and took a deep breath before setting his sights back on getting some work done. Moments later, he put his pen down and leaned back in his chair, unable to concentrate. 

[Saturday: 5 PM] 

Hearing the rumbling of a heavy vehicle on the gravel road above her, Mallory scrambled up the cold, grassy incline and peered at the road. A camouflaged, canvas-covered troop transport was trundling towards her. 

Climbing up out of the ravine, she started waving her arms and yelled at it to stop. It pulled to a loud, diesel-fueled halt beside her, and a soldier jumped out of the passenger side, her hand holding her helmet steady on her head. 

"You okay?" the soldier asked. "You look like crap." 

Mallory stared at her, as if to say, "Ya think?" Shaking her head, she asked, "Where am I?" 

"Fort Belvoir, Virginia," the private replied. "Just north of Hades. What happened to you?" 

"Hey, Private," the sergeant in the driver's seat called around his half-smoked cigar. "Get her in here, let's get going." 

Shrugging, the private clambered back into the vehicle, taking her M-16 and crawling back into the cargo area through the zip-open plastic window between it and the cab. Mallory climbed in behind her, tightening the olive canvas seatbelt around her waist before closing the door. The truck groaned and growled its way back to the road, and she turned to the sergeant. "You got a cell phone?" she asked. 

"What?" he yelled over the engine. 

"You got a cell phone?" she hollered. 

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "There're phones at the bivouac, though. And DeWitt Hospital's a little past that. It's an hour and a half away." 

"Wait, at the *what*?" 

"The bivouac." 

Mallory shook her head in confusion. 

"The campsite," the private hollered from the cargo area. 

"Reservist," the sergeant muttered good-naturedly, puffing away at his cigar as the truck bounced down the gravel road. 

[------------] 

Leo walked into the empty apartment, tired and woozy. The brief meeting he'd had with Hoynes had only helped a little before it started feeling uneasy; he'd left as soon as possible, claiming that whatever had been ailing him was flaring up again. It was partially the truth, as he had begun to feel a fever building under his skin on the trip back to his apartment. 

He stripped of his jacket, and kicked off his shoes as he walked to the fridge. The glass of ice water did almost nothing to cool him off, so he rummaged for the cold medicine he knew he had, took one pill, and went to collapse in bed. Crawling under the sheets, he prayed for the fever to go away, for the safety of his daughter, and for the recurring nightmare that had been plaguing him to leave him alone for just one night. 

Whatever might have happened to the other prayers, he did not know, but his third went unanswered. As soon as he fell asleep, he was awake again, in that same dream world that he'd been in for the past few nights. He lay paralyzed on the bed, sweat-soaked sheets seemingly grabbing hold of him and dragging the breathe out of his lungs. The room was no longer his bedroom; the air suddenly became rheumy, dank, and it smelled like a hot swamp, methane and sulfur soaking into his body. Steam hissed around him, but he felt nothing like heat. Rather, he felt cold, and the room expanded into darkness, the very antithesis of claustrophobia. In the middle of this blast furnace, it felt like the Arctic winds had descended upon him, and had made it their purpose to grate the flesh from his bones. Razor-sharp, the gusts cut into his skin, his muscles, his eyes. He felt air rush out of his chest, as if he were screaming; but whatever sound he had tried to make was drowned out by the howl of the cutting winds around him. 

Hell left as abruptly as it had come, and there he was on his bed, his voice hoarse and quiet in his throat, his eyes raw and straining. It had just been the dream, he realized, but this time, he felt as if he were still trapped in that dream that had been haunting him for days now. His room looked somehow fractured from reality; things were where they were supposed to be, but at the same time, they weren't right. Disproportioned, odd angles, and just slightly off coloring made it seem almost nightmarish in its incongruity. 

Eventually, he crawled off the bed, dropping to the floor when his shaky legs refused to hold up his weight. His goosefleshed skin cried out to him for some sort of warmth, and he waited until the shudders that had taken his body hostage stopped. Standing, he braced against the nightstand momentarily before heading for the bathroom. 

The first thing he did was turn on the hot water in the tub and set it to fill. The second thing he did was collapse in front of the toilet. The third thing he did was retch into the bowl, heaving up bitter bile after he had heaved up everything else in his stomach. Flushing it all away, he caught his breath for a moment before getting up to wash the sour-burning taste from his mouth. His underwear blindly hit the ground as he shrugged out of it, forgotten before it even slipped away from his skin. 

Condensation fogged the mirror above the sink as the scalding hot water shrieked out of the showerhead. Naked, he stepped into the tub, numb to the burning, bruising streams that cascaded onto his skin. Steam thickened the air in the darkened room, humid and muggy. The heat and dampness made it hard to breath, and the invisible clutch in his chest made it even harder still. 

Bullets of water bombarded his countenance, splashing with a hiss each and every time one of them hit. Rivulets mingled with ignored tears, running down his face, his chest, pooling beneath him as he slid down the cool, tiled wall behind him. The unbearable heat of the room and water and the fever made him cold again, his nerves confused by the intensity of the surrounding stimuli. Silence blared in his ears, deafening, and the darkness blinded him. The only thing his shivering body knew was touch. 

And when the fog shifted and shimmered in front of him, when the water burned his eyes enough, he once again knew vision. His father was sitting in front of him, wearing the last set of clothes that he had once worn as a living, breathing creature. A blue uniform, tattered from forty years of disuse and age. The once-golden badge on his chest was now green-brown with rust. There was a small, black hole in his forehead, hollow and stark against his sheet-white skin. 

The son pulled his bare legs close to his chest, tucking his chin into his knees as his arms hugged his shins. His eyes never left his father's, those green, fiery, angry orbs that sat intense in the dark cavities of his face. 

"Still sniveling like a little girl, are you, boy?" he asked, his voice contemptuous with its tinge of Ireland, gruff and lilting with drink. 

"No," he answered quietly, trying to keep his voice from wavering too much, trying to keep his teeth from chattering too much; the statement was as much a reply as it was a plea, one that begged for the apparition to be just that, an apparition. He blinked out the water and errant strand of blond hair that fell into his eyes, keeping his gaze on this spectre before him. 

The blue-clad corpse leaned forward, his breath rancid and rotten as he growled, "I don't think you've balls enough to do it, child. You fucking little pansy." 

"I do," he said softly, nodding; his hazel eyes were wide with the need to prove himself to his long-dead father. 

"Show me, then, boy. Show me I've raised a man." He leaned back, his putrid flesh mashing against the tiles with a wet, sickening sound. 

One hand raised up, pointed out towards the dead man before him. His elbow locked, he pointed his index finger at the corpse's forehead, cocked his thumb up, and curled the remaining three fingers around an imaginary pistol grip. His finger pressed up next to the black hole on the cadaver's forehead, indenting the decaying skin slightly. Maggots crawled up and out of the cavity, crunching and hissing as they dropped into the hot water below. 

"Bang," he whispered, his voice cracking from the humidity and heat; he watched with dull, empty eyes as his father's head exploded, blood, brains and bits of skull smashing into the wall behind him. And as the headless corpse shifted in and out of view, as the steam filtered the body in and out of his reality, he kept his arm locked out in that same position until the lack of blood flow forced him to drop it back to his side. It splashed onto the surface of the gathering, rising water, his fingers splaying out limply as he continued to stare at the empty wall before him. And as the ersatz amniotic fluid wombed him, his eyes drifted dull and shut. He slept. 

From the entrance to the bathroom, the Devil watched him. He knew that the nightmare was caused by his father's now-immense powers, and the small part of him that was still with God felt sorry for Leo. The rest of him, however, detachedly wondered why Hoynes would want to take such an interest in this man. Shrugging, he walked to the tub and sat down on the porcelain edge, because he had a promise to keep. Touching his fingers to Leo's warm forehead, he muttered, "And tomorrow you'll be thanking God for this so-called miracle." Within a moment, he had told Leo everything he needed to know to find his daughter, and everything he needed to know to kill his father, once and for all. He got up and left the apartment, closing the door loudly upon his exit. 

The water reached his drooping head, and he thought he heard a door slam somewhere. He awoke again, sputtering and splashing in distress. The water had gone chilly, pelting him now with what felt like needles of ice; shuddering in the cold, he stood up and reached over to turn the faucet off. His clammy fingers turned the knob awkwardly as the digits were somewhat numb and used to the relative weightlessness of being in water. 

The showerhead resigned itself to dripping intermittently, droplets falling to the water's surface with a sucking plunk, and soon, recognition, determination, and surprise filled his eyes. He didn't question how he knew what he did, and clambered out of the tub quickly, almost slipping in his haste to leave the bathroom. 

"Mallory," he muttered with parched lips, as he hastily threw on whatever clothes seemed to be clean. He had a drive now, a motivation, and he grabbed the loaded nine millimeter out of his bedside table before striding out of his apartment and down to the garage. 

Absently, he griped to himself about how long it would take to get to Fort Belvoir. 

[Saturday: 7:14 PM] 

"Danny?" 

"Yeah?" 

"When you said 'SUV', I thought you meant 'SUV'," CJ stated. 

"Yeah," he said distractedly, approaching one of the gates to Fort Belvoir. 

"I didn't know you meant 'Hummer'." 

"It's a nice little truck, isn't it?" he asked appreciatively. 

"It's not a nice little *anything*," Stone commented, noting the large amount of headroom. "This thing's a bus." 

"Yeah," Danny stated, still distracted as he turned into the gate. The soldiers manning the gate were a sergeant, and a private who was probably barely out of training. "Heya, guys," he greeted, giving them his most winningest grin. 

The two looked at each other, and the sergeant motioned for the private to take care of things. "I'm sorry, sir, but this isn't the visitor's entrance," he stated, holding his rifle a bit nervously. 

"Well, we're not visitors," Danny explained. 

"I work for the President of the United States," CJ put in, leaning towards them. 

The sergeant laughed, and said, "Right, lady. So do I." Stepping in front of the private, he said, "Why don't you people get out of here now?" 

"No, I really work for him, though," she stated, stepping out of the vehicle and holding up her White House ID. "Can I talk to you, sergeant?" 

The sergeant peered at her ID before nodding and letting her into the shack. "Yes, ma'am." 

"That computer there," she began quietly, motioning to the laptop sitting on a desk. "Can it tell you who's got security clearances and who doesn't?" 

"I can access that database, yes ma'am," the sergeant answered. 

"Well, it'll tell you that I've got top secret clearance," she stated. She gave him her social security number, and within seconds, he had her file pulled up; a bit unnerved, he glanced between the screen and her face, comparing the photo on file and the face of the woman standing before him. 

"Yes ma'am, it seems you do," he agreed. 

"Those guys in the Hummer, there? The driver doesn't have anything, but the guy in back has such a high security clearance, he doesn't even exist to you," she lied. "Now, we need your help here, sergeant." Turning back to Danny, she took the keys and showed them to the soldier. "What building is this from?" 

Within moments, they were on their way to the out-of-the-way shack, driving on unpaved, pot-hole gutted roads. As soon as they began approaching the building, Danny cut the engine and rolled to a halt; the night was quiet, and every sound would probably be heard by whatever occupants might be in the ramshackle building. They unloaded quietly, but both Danny and CJ had to swallow their surprise when Stone produced a handgun. 

"How else would I shoot him?" he whispered incredulously as they walked to the shack. Quietly, they eased open the front door, Stone leading the way with his gun at the ready; the first room was empty, and the three let out a collective sigh. Whether the sigh was one of relief, or disappointment, they couldn't tell. 

The floor creaked silently as they walked towards the second room; suddenly, the silence and darkness were shattered by a gunshot, flashing and loud in the confined space. CJ pulled Danny to the ground as Stone shot off a round in the direction of the first shot. 

Crawling to the wall, Danny slapped the lightswitch. The bare bulb flickered to life, buzzing and heating the room with its glare. In its harshness, the two mortals could see two undead facing each other down, their guns pointed at the others' head, their faces stony, and their eyes fierce. 

"Just shoot him," Danny said after a few long, tense seconds of staring. 

Without taking her eyes off the two armed men, CJ murmured, "He can't. The eyes." 

Danny glanced at her in confusion. "The eyes?" Comprehension dawned, and he added, "Are the windows to the soul." He peered at the exact aim of the weapons; sure enough, they were aimed at the eyes. 

"That's what it is," she whispered. "Shoot 'em in the eyes, send 'em back to hell." 

"Shut the hell up," Stone finally growled at them, his eyes never leaving his target. 

"Well, this was predictable," Danny commented dryly. 

"Hey." 

All four turned to see who had spoken; it was Leo, standing in the doorway, his own gun trained on his father. The barrel pointed directly at the older McGarry's eyes, and even more directly at his left than his right. 

The arm holding his weapon dropped to his side as he turned to face his son. Somewhere along the line, the anger in his expression had dissolved into open surprise and not a little fear. "Leo?" 

"I'm gonna do it," he whispered, though his hand trembled. "I'm gonna send you back, now." 

"You won't," Michael said softly, taking a slow step towards Leo with his hands at his side, palm out. Kneeling, he dropped his gun to the ground and licked his lips nervously, never taking his eyes off his son. "This is our second chance, Leo. We can make things right this time." 

"Where's Mallory?" he asked, fear and anger mingling with his tears and fever, making his whole body tremble. 

"She escaped," Michael replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if someone's already picked her up, it's a busy base." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "You raised a fine girl, Leo. A real smart girl." 

It could have been that his strength faltered, or it could have been that his father was convincing him of his sincerity, but Leo's arm fell a little. "Why are you here?" 

Michael took another small step to his son, and said, "I don't want to hurt you, Leo. You're the only son I've got." 

Leo's arm fell to his side completely, the gun held loosely in his hand. "I killed you," he stated, his voice sounding small in the tense quiet of the shack. 

"I know," Michael replied softly, putting his hands on Leo's shoulders. "I forgive you." 

Burying his face in his father's shirt, he slid his hands up between them, his free hand running through his father's hair as he cried, the both of them seemingly oblivious to the three other people in the room. Slowly, though, he slid the gun up to the older man's face, his other hand grabbing his hair and pulling his head back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as the other man looked at him in fear and shock. 

He shot out his right eye, and then his left; without even a scream, the body disappeared. 

For a moment, the only thing to be heard was the crunching of leaves against the exterior of the building, and the wind tapping against the thin, uninsulated windows. Everything seemed frozen in time, until finally, CJ stood up slowly. 

"Leo," she began quietly, her voice sounding loud and abrasive in the otherwise quiet room. "Leo, you okay?" 

The rush of the moment left him, and he turned to her with dead eyes. "I think so," he answered, right before the gun fell from his limp, sweat-slicked fingers. He lurched forward, and fell against CJ, who lowered him to the ground before grabbing his weapon and shoving it into her waistband. 

"I'll go get the car," Danny said, scrambling to his feet. 

"Where's Stone?" she asked urgently, glancing around as she tried to rearrange the dazed and feverish Chief of Staff into a more comfortable position. 

"Dunno," Danny answered, not really caring and already out the door. Within a minute, he was back with the Hummer backed up to the door, and he helped CJ walk Leo to the backseat. "Times like this, I wish these suckers weren't so high off the ground," he muttered as they struggled. 

Buckling Leo into the seat, CJ asked, "You've had times like this before?" 

"Not really," he admitted as they climbed inside. "We'll take him to DeWitt, that's the hospital on base." 

CJ sat in the back with Leo, and swiped his forehead with the handkerchief that Danny had handed to her. "How long's that gonna take?" 

"It'll be a few minutes," he said, even as he sped down the rough gravel road, not even swerving to avoid the man-eating pot-holes that pockmarked the streets. 

[Saturday: 7:45 PM] 

"I really need to make that phone call," Mallory stated, shifting uncomfortably in the thin paper gown. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am, we've got to confirm your identity first," the burly armed guard replied. 

"If you let me make that call, I'll confirm my identity," she stated testily. The guard didn't reply, and she sighed frustratedly, lying back down on the uncomfortable gurney. The make-up that had seemed like bruises had been washed off her skin, and the doctors who'd examined her found no actual injuries; after that came to light, they began to be a little more suspicious of her. "You're a staff sergeant, right?" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"When my dad's done with you, you'll be a buck private," she muttered. 

Chuckling, the sergeant asked, "Who's your dad, the President?" 

"No," she answered with a sweet smile. "That's my godfather." 

"Right," he scoffed. Something outside of the room caught his attention, and he opened the door slightly to peer outside. 

"... or do you want me to call the White House for you?" wafted into Mallory's room, and she sat up again before getting out of the bed completely. 

"May I?" she asked the guard, and he opened the door wider for her to see outside. With growing surprise, she saw CJ leaning over the orderly desk, pushing a phone to the orderly's ear, and Danny and her father sitting down on a bench, close by. Her surprise turned to gnawing concern when she saw the way Danny was propping her father up. 

"You're a sergeant now, right?" CJ was asking an orderly, not realizing she had an audience. "I swear by the time my boss is done with you, you'll be a buck private." 

The guard who was with Mallory glanced between her and CJ before ushering her out the room. "Uh, go," he motioned with one hand. 

She stepped out of the room, a little unsurely, and called, "CJ?" 

Blinking in surprise, CJ turned her attention to the voice down the hall. "Holy hell... " 

His daughter's voice had alerted Leo, and with Danny's help, he stood up. "Mal?" 

One hand keeping the paper gown from flapping open behind her, she ran down the hall, almost throwing herself into his arms. "Daddy," she whispered, burying her face into his shoulder. Then, and only then, did she feel the heat that was coming off his skin. 

He managed to peel his jacket off and wrap it around her shoulders as she pulled back to press her palm to his forehead. "You've got to be cold," he told her, almost chidingly as he eyed the flimsy gown. 

"Florida in the summertime would be cold to you," she quipped, trying to use humor to cover up the knot of worry that was forming in her gut. She glanced at Danny, and together, they led Leo back to the seat. 

The guard who had been with Mallory, meanwhile, had gone and gotten the head nurse. He walked with the nurse towards the orderly desk, giving Mallory a guilty glance as he passed her. 

"I'm Lieutenant Black," the nurse stated, holding his hand out to CJ. "And you are... ?" 

"CJ Cregg, White House Press Secretary," she began harshly, "and *that* is Leo McGarry, White House Chief of Staff, with his daughter, Mallory O'Brien." 

The nurse visibly shrank into himself, eyes wide and unblinking. "Do you have any ID or-" 

"Here," she interrupted, grabbing his hand and slapping her ID into it. "Get them whatever treatment they need, before I call the President down here myself." 

He nodded quickly, and soon Leo was on a gurney, being wheeled away with CJ and Mallory very close behind. 

Danny watched them leave, weariness finally having hit him. Standing up, he stretched his arms widely, closing his eyes as his back cracked. Walking over to the orderly desk, he asked, "Lemme use your phone?" The orderly complied, and Danny leaned tiredly against the desk as he dialed CJ's office number. 

"Hey, Carol? It's me, Danny. Patch me into the President's line, I've got some great news." As he waited, he absently wondered where Stone had disappeared to; then, he heard the President's voice, and he smiled. 

[Sunday: 8:40 AM] 

The knock on his office door surprised him, and he asked, "Yeah?" 

Margaret opened the door and said, "The Vice President's here to see you, Leo." 

He furrowed his brows in confusion, but nodded and said, "Okay." 

She ushered Hoynes in before stepping out again, shutting the door. Hoynes eyed the suit that Leo was wearing and stuffed his hands into his chinos before saying, "So it's true." 

"What's true?" Leo asked distractedly, getting some things together. 

"You don't own a thread of casual clothing," he smirked. 

Leo stared at him, confused, before dismissing the statement and getting back to getting things together. "Oh, no, I'm just going to church today with Mallory, then I'm gonna go see Sam We're supposed to have some sort of big, relaxing day today." 

Hoynes chuckled in astonishment. "Wait a minute. Church? You haven't been to Sunday Mass since I met you!" 

Smiling sheepishly, Leo replied, "Well, I guess I just got some stuff to say, today." 

"I guess," Hoynes agreed quietly. "Come here, sit down for a second." 

He sat down on the couch, next to Hoynes. "What?" 

"How're you feeling?" the Vice President asked seriously. 

It took a moment, but Leo eventually took a deep breath and answered, "I'm okay. I, uh... the doctors said it's stress and the flu." 

"Well, actually, I meant-" 

"I know what you meant," Leo interrupted, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. "I'm okay." 

"Okay," Hoynes said quietly, solemnly, before glancing away. "The flu?" he began in a much lighter voice. "What'd they do?" 

"Prescribed me Zithromax and bed rest, then kicked me outta the hospital," Leo said. 

"They kicked you out??" 

"Yeah, apparently, even though I work for the Commander In Chief, I'm not eligible for Tricare medical coverage," he remarked. 

"But you're a vet," Hoynes exclaimed, amused. 

"I know, but... " He gave the Vice President a side-long glance. "I'm thinking we should close that base." 

"Leo," he began warningly. "You can't close Fort Belvoir." 

"You know, I probably could," he countered, smirking mischievously. Glancing at his watch, he added, "But right now, I gotta go to church." 

"Okay," Hoynes said, standing up with him. "I'll see ya later." 

"Yeah," Leo said amicably, heading for the door. 

Hesitantly, Hoynes began, "Hey, Leo... " 

He paused at the door, and said, "Yeah?" 

Stalling, Hoynes glanced around the room. "That's your father's?" he asked, pointing at the folded flag that sat atop the bookcase behind Leo's desk. 

Leo regarded it quietly, almost as if he were surprised to see it there. "Yeah, it's his." 

Scratching the back of his neck, Hoynes said, "You still have it up there, even though he-" He cut himself off abruptly, but continued to stare at it. 

His gaze snapped away from the flag. "Even though he what?" 

Shaking his head, Hoynes let his gaze drop. "You know you can talk to me about anything that happened," he said. 

"Yeah," Leo nodded. 

His voice quiet and serious, he stated, "I mean, anything. Including what you did last night." 

Leo regarded him, visibly caught off-guard. Licking his lips nervously, he nodded and said, "Okay." 

"I'll see you sometime after church, then," Hoynes said brightly, awkwardly. 

"Yeah, I'll see ya," Leo replied, leaving. 

He watched the Chief of Staff leave, and he knew that there was probably some less awkward way of bringing it up; however, the less awkward ways would have taken too long, so Hoynes just shook off whatever feelings of unease he had, and left the office. 

When he got to his own office, his secretary informed him that Danny Concannon was waiting for him, inside. 

"Sir," Danny greeted, standing up as Hoynes came in. 

"No, sit down," he said with a smile. "Good job on last night, by the way." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"You know you won't be able to tell anyone about it, right?" 

Danny chuckled and said, "If I even tried, they'd lock me up and throw away the key." 

Hoynes nodded with a smile, and sat down at his desk. "What can I do for you?" 

"Well, sir, I've got a bit of a question for you," Danny began. "Totally off the record, I'm just curious." 

"Shoot." 

Looking around as if to check for eavesdroppers, Danny leaned forward and asked, "How do you know the Devil?" 

"How do I know the Devil?" Hoynes repeated incredulously. "What makes you think I know the Devil?" 

"I'll bite then, how do you know a guy who *works* for the Devil?" Danny rephrased. 

Hoynes chuckled, shaking his head at Danny's curiosity. "You ever read Revelations?" 

"Yes, sir, a while ago," Danny answered, leaning back again. 

"Chapter twelve, verse seven," Hoynes stated. 

Danny's eyes turned inward with thought before he said, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't-" 

"'And there was a war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon fought and his angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.'" 

"'And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world,'" Danny continued. "'He was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.' Fallen angels, but what does... wait. The archangel Michael, as in Michael Mc-" 

"No, no relation there," Hoynes assured him. 

Danny thought some more, but the idea that he wanted to come to light kept escaping him. "Sir, are you saying that you're a... I mean-" 

"Come on, Danny," Hoynes laughed, standing up. "All I did was quote the bible. It's just like you press types to read into things like that." 

"Yeah," Danny agreed, chuckling nervously. "Us reporters are like that." He took the Vice President's standing up as his cue to leave, so he said, "I guess I'll talk to you later, then, sir." He left with a nervous, confused smile on his face, and walked down to the street looking just like that. 

He was so thrown, in fact, that he almost walked right into Ezekiel Stone without knowing it. 

"Danny," Stone greeted with a grin, and it occurred to the reporter that he hadn't seen the man grin before. "How are ya?" 

"I'm fine," Danny replied, walking alongside Stone as they went down the street. "What happened to you last night?" 

"After Leo did the thing... " He sighed and stopped, glancing at Danny. "Would you believe I had to outprocess?" 

Danny gave a short burst of surprised laughter. "They outprocess you from Hell? Like you're in the Army?" 

Stone shrugged. "I don't make the rules, I just follow 'em." 

Danny shook his head as he began laughing uncontrollably. After a second, he leaned against a wall, his sides hurting from laughing too much. Stone stared at him, occasionally glancing at the passers-by who were staring at the two of them. 

"Danny? You okay?" he asked quietly. 

"I'm sorry," he laughed, wiping the tears away from his eyes. "This is ridiculous." At Stone's questioning glance, he started laughing even more. "I'm talking to a guy who just came back from the dead, and I think the Vice President just told me he's a fallen angel." 

"A fallen angel?" Stone repeated. "Well, it'd sure explain a lot of things." 

"Oh, don't tell me," Danny muttered, though he was still laughing. 

"No, seriously, I think he and the Devil had a... thing." 

"I'm so not hearing this," Danny stated incredulously, looking skyward. 

"He's jealous," Stone murmured to himself. "That's what was strange about him the past day. He can't get Hoynes to go back with him, because he's already with someone else." 

"His wife, maybe?" Danny speculated, still grinning like an idiot. 

"Maybe," Stone concurred, walking again. 

"Gossip," came a new voice, pouty-sounding and miffed. 

Danny stared at the man who'd suddenly appeared beside him, and began shaking his head. "Oh, no. No, I'm outta here. Bye." 

"Hey, say thanks to CJ for me, and don't hurt yourself, okay?" Stone called behind him as Danny walked away. 

The Devil stared after the reporter before walking alongside Stone. "You really are a gossip though, aren't you?" 

"Haven't you finished bugging me?" he groused, though he was almost smiling. 

"Please. This is the last time you'll ever see me, don't I get a hug or something?" the Devil wheedled. 

"The last time?" Stone repeated, stopping outside of a bar. 

"The very last time," the Devil promised. "Come on, have a beer with me." He held the door open for Stone, and walked in behind him. 

"Never thought I'd be having a beer with the Devil," he muttered, sitting down at the bar. 

"Yeah, that's what most guys say," the Devil replied, ordering a pair of domestics. 

"You have beer with people?" Stone asked by way of conversation. 

The Devil shrugged. "Every now and again, yeah." 

Stone nodded as his beer came. "So, how'd Leo find out where to go?" 

"Hello, Mr. Random," the Devil quipped, sipping his drink. 

"Seriously." 

"Seriously?" Stone nodded, and the Devil shrugged. "I told him." 

This confused Stone; the Devil never 'just' told people things. There were always ulterior motives. "Why?" 

Again, he shrugged, playing with the neck of his beer; there were, of course, ulterior motives to him helping Leo, but he wasn't so sure of them anymore. "Just because. Listen, it's been fun, but I've got to go." He got up and left the bar. 

"But-" Stone pointed to the beer on the counter while he watched the Devil leave the building. Sighing, he started peeling the label off his own bottle; he was human now, and probably had nothing but what he wore. He couldn't pay for the beers. On a whim, though, he pulled out his wallet, and checked the billfold. 

He laughed, and pulled out a train ticket to New York City, and one last payment of thirty-six dollars and twenty-seven cents. 

[------------] 

The Devil walked, unnoticed, into Hoynes' office, and plunked down in one of the high-backed chairs. Hoynes came in soon after, not knowing he had a visitor; he stopped in his tracks when he saw the Devil. 

"Hi," he said, pulling off his coat and draping it across the back of his chair. 

"Hey," the Devil said. Propping his feet up on the coffee table, he added, "I just wanted to let you know I'm not cashing in on our deal." 

Hoynes stared at him, as if he hadn't heard what he said. "Excuse me?" 

"You'd be miserable with me," he continued. "All the power in the underworld wouldn't make you happy." 

Sitting down, he continued to stare at him. "What are you talking about? Is Leo all right?" 

"He's fine, I haven't gone back on our deal or anything," the Devil dismissed. "But I figured out why you were willing to give up everything for him." 

"He's important to the Bartlet administration," Hoynes stated with a nod. 

"This administration means nothing to you," the Devil said with a dry, mirthless laugh. "You did it for him." 

"If by 'him,' you mean-" 

"I mean the guy you asked me to help out last night," he interrupted. "Don't worry, I know when I'm beat. You've grown quite attached to him, haven't you?" 

"Them," Hoynes corrected tersely. "I've grown attached to *them*." 

"Whatever," the Devil said with a sad, knowing smile. "I'm just sorry I was beaten by a mortal." 

He was gone, and somehow, Hoynes knew he wouldn't be seeing him again for a very, very long time. 

[Saturday: 8:52 AM] 

Mallory leaned back in the passenger seat, exasperated. "Dad-" 

"I promise, it'll just be a second, sweety," he said, climbing out of the car. "I just forgot to put something away. I'll be back in a minute." Still, he paused, and looked at her for her permission to step back into his office. 

Finally, she relented, and with a smirk, she said, "If you're not back in five minutes, I'm coming up there and dragging your ass back down." 

"Because you're being nice to me, I'll forget that you just cursed at your father," he stated, giving her quick peck on the cheek before dashing back into the White House. 

He went into his office, and stopped short. He was going to make them late for church if he procrastinated too long, but he hesitated anyway as he walked to the back bookshelf. Making a choice, he pulled the chair out from his desk and pushed it near the case before climbing up on it. He reached for the folded flag, one hand braced on the wood edge of the shelf as the other stretched towards the cloth. 

The door opened and he turned halfway around, startled. "Who the hell-" 

"Sorry," Margaret said meekly, dropping a file on the desk. "I thought you'd left already." 

"I--yeah," he muttered, glancing at the flag before turning back to Margaret. 

She regarded him curiously as he stood on his chair and asked, "What're you doing, anyway?" 

Again, he glanced at the flag. "I needed to leave something for Josh, and I thought this needed a little straightening," he said, reaching for it and straightening it against the wall. 

"Ah," she said, walking to her outer office. "Well, I'll see you in a few days, Leo." 

"Bye," he said. Giving the flag one last glance, he climbed down off the chair and pushed it back under the desk. The flag stayed, bright against the muted color of the wall, as he left. 

He went to church, and the flag stayed in his office. 

-end- 


End file.
